


Bring it on Home to Me

by H4T08



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Loves, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-08-26 14:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H4T08/pseuds/H4T08
Summary: “Lee? Is that really you?” His whispered words are barely heard over the piercing screams of her younger son.“Mud and all, if my memory serves me correctly,” she quips under her breath. Staring into his mesmerizing chocolaty brown eyes, she gives him a small smile, the muscles aching in protest after the day she has had. “It’s good to see you alive and well, Jamey. Last I heard, you were dead.”“Last I heard, you were a nun,” he murmurs back as they both bend down to pick up the fallen food.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tangledupinmist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangledupinmist/gifts).



> My excuse for combating writer's block with "The Nun". 
> 
> Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Please heed the tags.
> 
> Dedicated to Tangledupinmist! You are the best and I hope you like it!

The tick from the clock sounds loudly.

The air is stifling, heavy with anger that is unresolved.

“Why?” His voice, which has the right to hold malice, is soft and vulnerable; the very essence of what heartbreak would sound like.

She has no answer for him. She did what she did without any thought to it – and she knows that that is the worse betrayal anyone could do. “I… I don’t—”

“Don’t you dare!” Fury flashes in his normally gentle, hazel eyes. “You are not a stupid person. You are smart and thoughtful in your decisions. You wouldn’t have done something without logic to back it up.” He crosses his arms against his chest, wincing as his bruised knuckles brushes along the fabric. “Why? Why did you kiss him?”

 _He’s right_ , she swallows past the guilt that has taken up residence in her throat.

He abruptly steps around his desk, “Had this happened before?”

“No.” She takes a timid step back, her eyes widening in fear, the bruise marring her cheek stinging against her cheekbone. “There is no reason as to why I kissed him back.” She folds her arms across her belly. “For one moment, one stupid moment, I was not thinking.”

“I heard some of the things he had said.” The lines that frames his face, the same ones she fell in love with so many years ago, disappears into worry and distrust. “Are you in love with him?”

She opens her mouth, the answer on the tip of her tongue, yet she snaps her lips closed. It would be so easy to lie, to save her marriage and her family the heartbreak that is nearly bursting at the seams, however, she never wants to lie to him. “At one point, I did.”

“And now?”

Her answer tastes bitter on her tongue, resolute in their meaning, yet, scared that they will never be believed again.

 

* * *

 

** 3 months earlier **

“Good morning, dearest,” Shelagh tilts her check as her husband kisses her.

“Good morning,” Patrick’s hand slips between their bodies, his fingers lightly pinching her bottom.

“I saw that.” Timothy’s deadpan response is accompanied by the standard roll of his eyes at his parents display of obvious affection. “You know, even Teddy could see that and he’s still a baby.”

“At least he’ll know that his parents still love each other very much,” Patrick kisses both his daughter and younger son.

Shelagh settles down next to Teddy to help with the feeding. “Besides, if you know your father’s going to do that, why do you keep looking?”

“Oy!” Timothy’s cheeks growing a healthy dose of red. “There’s no need to gang up on me for making an observation.”

“Well not everyone thinks it’s mushy,” Patrick quips back.

Timothy rolls his eyes, “I’ve got to go. I told Robbie that I would meet him in the library before school to help him with calculus.”

Shelagh quickly mops up the spilt porridge from Teddy’s chin with the spoon. “Don’t forget Tim that we have Doctor Campbell coming in today.”

“You’ve only reminded me ten times the past twenty four hours.”

“And this is my warning that you need to leave that cheek at the door,” Patrick glares at his older son.

Visibly swallowing his own cheeky response, Timothy wisely nods and murmurs a “yes, sir,” before heading out of the kitchen.

Patrick rolls his own eyes before finishing up his breakfast.

“I have to leave soon if I’m to make it to Nonnatus House on time.” Shelagh stands and picks up all of the empty bowls. “I should be finished with my home visits by two. That will give me enough time to swing by the grocers to pick up the last few items for dinner.”

“And despite his tongue and cheek this morning, Timothy knows not to doddle with friends after school so that he can pick up Angela and Teddy.” Helping Angela out of her seat so that she can put her shoes on, Patrick takes his bowl to the sink. “I enjoyed our free night together,” he murmurs in her ear. “And with us sponsoring this new doctor, we are given another free night.”

Shelagh blushes a fierce pink, the memories of of how they spent their free night blissfully replaying in her mind. “Patrick!” She glances over to make sure that Angela is properly distracted. “I’ve just started to take this pill and it seems to have enticed you more.”

“The contraceptive pill has nothing to do with it,” his hands capturing her hips, “this nurses uniform however does wonders for my imagination.”

“I would shudder to think what a habit would do to that unruly imagination as well,” Shelagh presses herself against him, excitement coiling in the pit of her belly. “However, neither of us has the time to explore such thoughts.”

Patrick doesn’t let up, his lips magnetically attracted to the supple skin under her ear as his fingers tease with the buttons along her dress. “We can make the time. Being a mother of three, I’m sure you can be rather resourceful.”

“And what would be your excuse?” The lilt of her voice becomes low, breathy, at the delicious prospect of being with her husband for the morning rather than pregnant mothers.

“I’m a man.” He grins at the success of unbuttoning the top half of her dress. “My excuse is you and all the other men will understand.”

“Patrick,” she mutters as she turns towards him, “you don’t say that.”

“I don’t say it outright,” he opens her dress wider, “all I have to say is that I’m with you.” His tongue lavishes against her glowing skin, the sight of her in her bra driving him insane with need. “You are a beautiful woman, an enigma even to some who still think of you as Sister Bernadette. They understand my tardiness when it comes to you.”

“Oh, Patrick, we shouldn’t,” she wraps her hand around the base of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.

“Your words say no,” his thumb circles along her excited bud, “but your body says otherwise.”

“Mummy! Daddy! Wook at me!” Angela comes running into the kitchen and poses with her hands reaching towards the ceiling for them to see.

Pulling away from him, Shelagh begins to button her dress. “Oh, you look… uhh… Angela Julienne? What on Earth did you put on?”

Patrick straightens up from his embrace of the counter to see his daughter covered head to toe in powder with some red smudges across her face. Within a half of second, all hopes in continuing his early morning tryst with his wife flies out the window.

“Don’t I wook as pretty as mummy?” She settles into her next pose with her hands on her hips.

“As pretty as—”

“Did you play with mummy’s make-up even though I had told you last night not to ever touch it?” Shelagh’s voice becomes louder with each passing word.

“I ony put on a whittle bit,” the little girl gives off the cutest pair of dimples – the same ones that melts Patrick’s heart in an instant.

“Shelagh, I can take care of this and drop them off at the daycare before my first appointment.” He can see his wife seething. “Go on now, you need to get off to Nonnatus House.” With a little nudge, he helps her to the door and places her coat around her shoulders. “We will carry on our earlier conversation once all of the kids are nestled in their beds.”

“But Patrick, she will have to be washed and—”

“I will take care of it,” he kisses her forehead. “It was my fault that I distracted you and I have learned to clean up my messes.”

“I enjoyed being distracted by you,” she murmurs in his ear.

“Don’t start now,” he gruffly steps back, “you get onto work and I’ll see you tonight with Doctor Campbell.”

“I love you, dearest.”

“I love you more, my darling.”

She gives him a quick peck before opening the door and walking out towards the street.

Patrick watches the gentle sway of her hips until she turns the corner.

“Daddy!” His daughters voices brings him out from his trance. “Teddy wants to be pretty too!”

Taking a deep breath to help steel his nerves, he closes the door and walks back to the mess he promised to have cleaned up. “Don’t put any make-up on Teddy!”

 

* * *

 

_1944, September 17_

_My Dearest Lee,_

_The nights are cold, the battles fierce (far more than I will ever elaborate) yet the end of war is coming soon. We, the men and I, can taste it with every kilometer we gain closer and closer towards Berlin._

_However, it’s not this that warms my heart, rather than the thought of living the rest of my life with you. That night in the barn helps to keep my will to live high. The words that were shared, the kisses that kept us up all night fills my nights with pleasant dreams rather than nightmares._

_I love you with all of my heart and I eagerly count down the kilometers until I get to see you again._

_With love,_

_Jamey_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have begun work on revising the next chapter of "The Nun". Hopefully that will be updated soon! 
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy!

Depositing her midwife bag onto the large table, Shelagh takes a moment to sit down and breath.

_Just breath_.

The day had gone from bad to worse within hours of leaving the house. Not only was she late to the morning role call, but she was muddy from head to toe before she had walked in. A car, not watching where it was going, sprayed her with icy mud from the side of the street. When Sister Julienne offered to get her a new uniform, her religious sister had also saw the mismatched buttons from her morning escapades with her husband and timidly stepped away as she fixed them.

After her late start, she felt that she couldn’t catch up with her appointment times. Though most of the new mothers had understood, it was her sense of dignity that received a beating after all of the late showings. She abhorred being tardy to anyplace that she had to be and experiencing it all day quickly soured her mood.

Now glancing at the time, she winces when she sees the clock striking 2:42 on the dot. _I was supposed to be out of here by 2 o’clock, however I still have to clean my instruments and finish my notes. I won’t be able to leave until 3:30 at the latest._

Looking over to her worn brown bag, she sighs, _these instruments won’t clean themselves._ Standing up, she goes to work with her duties. First, sanitization, followed by replacing used items in her bag, followed by finishing her notes on the patients she had met with. It’s only when she hears a few of the other nurses come in that she looks to the clock.

“Oh, dear!” Scrambling up out of her chair, she throws her notepad and pencil in her bag and hauls it into the corner for her to use tomorrow. Gathering her muddy coat, she quickly rushes towards the door.

“Well, hello Shelagh.” Nurse Franklin’s peppy voice sings through the air, “we weren’t expecting you here.”

“I’m running a bit behind today,” she throws over her shoulder, the sound of the telephone nearly drowning her out. “I will see you tomorrow.”

She nearly makes it to the door, when a soft voice calls out her name. “Nurse Turner, can you wait for one moment.” Sister Julienne quickly walks up to her. “I know you need to get home to receive the new doctor, however, could you please take this extra tank to Nurse Anderson?”

“Sister, I’m already late as it is.” If there is one thing Shelagh detests more than being late is sounding shrilly and desperate in front of Sister Julienne.

“I understand, however I am scheduled to take Sister Monica Joan to see Mother Jesu Emmanuel and Nurse Franklin must man the phone.” At Shelagh’s silence, she adds, “Martha Kingston’s home is on the way to your own. Your help will be much appreciated.”

“Very well,” Shelagh concedes.

“Thank you.” Sister Julienne pats her on her arm. “Fred has readied a bicycle with the replacement tank. You may bring it home for the evening as long as you bring it back by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes Sister.” Opening the door, Shelagh rushes out to the bicycle at hand, mentally calculating the new timetable for the evening. _If I skip the asparagus and mix up a salad instead, I should be able to finish everything else._

 

* * *

 

Spotting Patrick’s car in the driveway, Shelagh nearly groans out loud. Pushing the bicycle the last leg of her journey, she curses herself for ever getting out of bed.

The ride to Martha Kingston’s home was quick, however, when Shelagh came through to the bedroom, she had found a tired Nurse Anderson struggling to finish out the second stage. Making up her mind to stay to help, she had meant to tell Martha’s mother to call the surgery to inform Patrick that she was held up, when Martha began to hemorrhage.

After the baby was extracted quickly and the ambulance was called, Shelagh’s experience kicked in to help stop the bleeding. When Martha and her baby girl were whisked away, both alive and doing better, Shelagh had remembered that she had to get home to make dinner.

When she cycled over to the market, she nearly cursed out loud when she saw all of the stands closed. Remembering that they close early on Mondays, she made up her mind to fix Shepherds Pie and to call this disastrous day officially done.

_Yet, the powers-to-be had difference ideas_ , she silently grumbles as the water sloshes along her shoes. On her way home, the perfectly blue skies suddenly turned dark gray. This normally would have not been a problem if the bicycle chain didn’t decide to break at that precise moment.

Shivering in her drenched and muddy coat, she parks her broken bicycle against the wall and prays to everything that is holy that Doctor Campbell’s train was delayed by a day. Trudging up to the front door, she reaches out for the knob when suddenly the door opens from the inside.

“Mum!” Timothy’s concerned brow lifts at the sight of his mother. “We were starting to worry when you hadn’t showed up yet. Nurse Franklin had told us that you were with a patient.” He steps to the side to let her in. “Dad,” Timothy shouts across the house, “mum is home!”

“Where the bloody hell has she been?” Is the response she hears back over the screams of both her younger children.

“In bloody hell,” she mutters under her breath.

“I heard that,” Timothy grins as he pulls her wet coat from her shoulders.

“Timothy, I’ve had an awful day and, by the screaming cries, my night is far from over. I need for you to do two things, cut the cheek and tell me if Doctor Campbell is here.”

Taking a longer look at her haggard appearance, Timothy straightens up and answers back, “Doctor Campbell is in the kitchen cooking Shepherds Pie. Dad is currently trying to sooth Teddy, who came home today with interesting colored snot sliding out of his nose. Angela is in her room for timeout because she snuck into your room and covered her eyes with some interesting color choices. She instantly began to cry when dad got cross at her.”

Closing her eyes, the need to both cry and laugh at the same time begins to weigh on her shoulders. Glancing around at all that is falling apart in her home, she finally looks to Timothy and asks, “Could you please go to Angela’s room to help quiet her down. Bring that silly Dr. Seuss book that she always is asking you to read.”

“But mum—”

“No! I told you no cheek tonight.” She hated her shrilly voice with a passion. “Please, if you can quiet her down then we can talk about the concert I know you want to go to tonight.”

Lighting up at the magical word ‘concert’, Timothy quickly darts upstairs to quiet his sister.

Walking into the living room, Shelagh steps behind Patrick. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here.”

“Timothy has filled me in on all that is happening. I also told him that if he helps quiet Angela down then we will talk about this concert he has been asking us to go to for the past week.” She reaches out to feel Teddy’s forehead.

“He has a fever,” he confirms her conclusions, “however it’s still rather low. I just gave him medicine. Once Angela calms down, then he should be able to follow suit.” He finally glances over to see his wife. “So much for that evening together.”

“The day has been rather horrid and no offense to Doctor Campbell,” her eyes flick over to the back of a tall man making a mess in her kitchen, “but I will be rather happy to see him off to his lodgings.”

“Then, I’m sorry to say, that your night might become worse. His lodgings were not ready when we went to go drop off his luggage. I offered him the couch to sleep on until tomorrow when the landlady promised that everything will be ready for him.” 

Shelagh squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Bloody hell.” It is the second time she has used those words specifically and she knows that she is at her breaking point. The only light at the end of this long, dark tunnel is that both children were starting to settle down, Teddy laying his head on Patrick’s shoulder, ready for some much needed sleep.

—CRASH—

The sudden sound coming from the kitchen startles her sick little one, the tears of his fatigue once again resurfacing.

Instead of joining her son with tears of her own, Shelagh instead makes her way into the kitchen, Patrick’s secure hold on Teddy giving the illusion that he has everything under control with him. “Doctor Campbell, please, if you could step away from whatever that is you were making. I can clean everything up while you rest from your… from your… oh bloody hell.”

“Lee? Is that really you?” His whispered words are barely heard over the piercing screams of her younger son.

“Mud and all, if my memory serves me correctly,” she quips under her breath. Staring into his mesmerizing chocolaty brown eyes, she gives him a small smile, the muscles aching in protest after the day she has had. “It’s good to see you alive and well, Jamey. Last I heard, you were dead.”

“Last I heard, you were a nun,” he murmurs back as they both bend down to pick up the fallen food.

“We both have risen and, for that, I am most thankful.”

Once all the food was picked up and the shards of thick pottery placed in the bin, Jamey pulls Shelagh up with a strong hand. “Despite the mud and rain and overall haggard appearance, you are a sight to see.”

“Funny, I was just about to say that despite the horrid smell of whatever you were attempting to cook in here, it is good to see you too.” She smiles brightly, the warmth of his fingers clasping her hand making her shiver violently.

“Smashing, you two have met. Doctor Campbell this is my wife Shelagh. Shelagh this is Doctor James Campbell.”

She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from giggling. “Nice to have met you Doctor James Campbell.”

“Please, call me Jamey, if I can call you Lee.”

“It sounds absolutely divine,” her cheeks flush pink. “Patrick, why don’t you hand over Teddy. I can settle him down to bed and change out of these god awful clothes.”

Taking the sniffling child, she’s about to climb the stairs when she hears Patrick offer to get fish and chips for everyone.

 

* * *

 

** March 1944 **

“Come on, Lee,” Jamey pulls her across the rest of the green fields towards the barn.

“Shhh! Be quite.” She tries to bypass the puddles, yet, she can feel the cold mud splashing against her dress and stockings. “You’ll wake up you’re da.”

“He’s a dead sleeper,” he gives her a sly smirk as he threads his fingers through his stringy hair.

Her stomach flips at the sight of him in the moonlight. She had always thought that he was handsome, yet, she never really realized it until he asked her to go with him to the dance hall. Most of the other girls were not happy to see her on his arm, yet, what most of them didn’t know was that he was painfully shy around girls. Shelagh had known him since they were wee ones playing in the fields. “You’re ma is not.”

“Come on, Lee, live a little.” He opens the barn door and drags them in towards the haystack. “Did you bring the pack?”

Shelagh falls onto one of the wooden chairs and goes through her purse, “Of course I did.” Pulling out the pack, she grins when he produces a lighter. “But this still doesn’t make me a smoker.”

“Never.” She takes out two fags and he lights them. “I’m not the biggest fan of Henleys, but they’ll do just fine.” Jamey falls back into the haystack, throughly enjoying the smoke. “Did you have fun at the dance?”

She shrugs her shoulders, wrapping her sweater tighter around her body. “It was okay.”

“I thought about taking Caroline McDonnell, however, I chickened out at the last minute.” Her stomach drops at his confession, but she makes sure not to let on. “Is there anyone you would want to bring with you?”

She knows the answer to her question instantaneously, yet she holds back. He’s her friend, one of her best friends at that, and to confess that she finds him to be handsome would mess things up. _Especially with my brothers._ “You know me, I don’t even like to go to those absurd things.”

“That’s the nun in you talking,” he laughs at his own joke, oblivious to the pain crossing her features in the dark barn. “If I screw up my courage and ask Caroline to go, I can set you up with Kevin Donald.”

Her nose scrunches in distaste, “He is terribly mean to me.”

“He likes you a lot, it’s your brothers he doesn’t like.”

“No thank you.”

“Come on, Lee—”

“I know, I know, live a little,” she rolls her eyes, her cigarette coming dangerously close to the filter. “I don’t like him and that’s final.”

“Then I guess, I’ll just have to keep on taking you.”

Her heart jumps into her throat, “Why would you want to do that? If you want to take Caroline, then take her.” She swallows past her own shyness, “I heard she likes to kiss boys.”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it, I don’t want to be with a girl who likes to kiss boys.”

“You want to be with a girl who likes to kiss other girls?” She makes a face at him when his boyish laughter rings out in the cold, nippy air. Once she thinks about her words, she blushes something fierce, “I didn’t mean it that way, you pervert.”

“I just didn’t expect you to say that.” He rolls onto his back, clutching his stomach.

“Shhh! You’re gonna wake up yer parents!” She kicks him in the shins with her utility shoes. The same ones many of the girls made fun of her for.

His laughter dies down to warm belly laughs. After a few silent moments, he asks, “Have you ever kissed a boy?”

She feels her cheeks burning, “Of course not. Caelan and Fin made sure of that.”

“Yes, but they’re off at basic. It’s time for you to let loose.”

“When I kiss someone, I will kiss him because I want to kiss him, not because my brothers are out of town.” She extinguishes her cigarette against her chair and shoves it in her coat pocket. “Besides, with the war across the channel, I would rather have them here.”

He sits up from the haystack, she can see guilt shining in his eyes, “I would rather have them here too.” He wraps his arms around his knees, “I’m sorry.” Silence permeates the old barn. “I’ve never kissed a girl.”

“Despite your popularity, you are just as shy as I am.”

“I want to…,” he picks up a small straw, breaking it off into tiny pieces and catching them in his palms, “I want to, uhhh, I mean, can I kiss you?”

Her heart now pounds against her chest, louder than the bombs dropping down over their heads. “What?”

He throws down all the pieces of the straw, “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“I want you to kiss me.” She doesn’t know where the courage came from to tell him that outright.

“Really?”

“I thought you knew.”

“I never would have thought you would have said yes.”

“I can be bold when I want to be,” her strong words dies down to a whisper at the end of her statement.

He jumps up, “I want to kiss you now.”

“But no more than that.”

“I don’t think I could handle much more than that.”

She stands as awkward as a new baby foal and meets him toe to toe.

His hands timidly reaches out to her waist, but he retracts them just as quickly. Leaning down, his lips pucker to meet hers, yet he misjudges the distance and instead kisses her nose. “Bloody hell,” she can see the crimson taking over his cheeks.

Taking the initiative, she captures his cheeks within both of her numb hands and gives him a quick peck on the lips. Ignoring the overwhelming need to run away, she allows him to make the next move.

“Let’s live a little, Lee,” he smirks before crashing his lips onto hers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention this in the first chapter; the title is from a Sam Cooke song by the same name. It's absolutely beautiful and I encourage you to listen to it! 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to all those out here! Even if you do not observe this holiday, I hope you were able to spend the day with the people you love!

Clicking the lighter to life, Shelagh instantly tastes the rush of nicotine as she inhales from the cigarette she had taken from the ‘emergency reserve’ case.

After calming down Teddy and relieving Timothy of his big brother duty of distracting Angela, Shelagh had finally been able to change out of her sopping wet clothes – much to the duress of her daughter pinching her nose and saying that she stinks.

When both children were down for the evening, she had climbed down the stairs to find the men had finished their portions of fish and chips and left a plate for her on the table.

Shelagh grins as she takes another blessed puff, _Patrick left me the chips with all of the vinegar._

“Greetings,” Jamey’s dear, sweet voice brings her out of the thoughts of her husband. “Care if I join you?”

“I should be cleaning up,” she goes to smother her half used cigarette when he stops her by capturing her wrist.

“Patrick and Timothy are cleaning the dishes for you all the while discussing the rules for going to see a concert.”

Despite the sizzle of his palm pressing against her skin, Shelagh rolls her eyes, “The Animals is the name of the group and the last time Tim went to a concert with his friends, he had stayed out well past curfew.”

“The Animals you say?” At her nod, he pulls out his own pack of cigarettes with the shake of his head. “Well a name like that doesn’t necessarily instill a sense of calm, now does it.” He lights one of his fags, “It reminds of the music group we had seen at one of the dances I dragged you to.”

“The tall, dark, and handsome chaps,” she grins as she takes another puff. “We were rather rowdy that night, hence the stern talk, yet Timothy was rather fantastic at settling his sister down, unlike you sneaking me out of my window.”

The hearty laugh that falls out from between his lips makes her stomach flip in circles. “You know Lee, I never imagined seeing you like this; married with three children, one of them a teenager wanting to see a music group calling themselves ‘The Animals’.”

“Yes, well, I never imagined seeing you alive, let alone in my kitchen, breaking my best baking dish.” The bite in her voice is evident, yet she softens it with a small smile. “I’m happy to see you alive and well.”

“I was just about to say that,” he looks down at her, the dark pools of his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. “It’s good to see you, Lee.”

Shelagh was about to return the sincere words when the back door opens behind them. Instantly taking a step away, she glances back and smiles kindly – albeit a bit guiltily – at her husband.

“Timothy is off to see that group with the strict promise to be home by midnight.” His eyes tick between the other two adults and Shelagh has to force herself to swallow past the knot pressing against her throat.

“Would you like me to write down the time he comes in? I am taking up space on your sofa, the least I can do is to write down a few numbers.”

“That is kind of you, however, I trust him at his word.” He takes an offered cigarette from Jamey’s pack. “It also helps that I told him for every minute that he is late that he will have to spend that many weeks reading Angela’s favorite book to her at bedtime.”

Shelagh, not expecting to hear that, half snorts and half coughs the cigarette smoke through her nose. “She’s back with ‘The Cat in the Hat’, so I imagine him being home by 11:30.”

“I put him being back by a quarter til midnight.” He wiggles his eyebrows, “Shall we make a wager, Nurse Turner?”

Her cheeks glow a healthy dose of red, “Not in mixed company, Doctor Turner.”

Patrick opens his mouth to respond, when Jamey’s laugh cuts through the flirting. “That would have never stopped you from before, Lee.”

Patrick squints his eyes, “Do you two know each other?”

“We went to the same school together,” Shelagh provides. “Not to mention my brothers used him for target practice.”

Patrick’s brow dips in confusion, “For which sport?”

“The sport of torturing me,” Shelagh blows out the rest of the smoke as she smothers her cigarette. “They had found us sharing more than just a cigarette one night and decided right then and there that he was the enemy.”

“I was glad to take the pain and punishment they gave.” He flashes a saucy grin, “However, I am rather thankful that they never caught me sneaking you out of your window, being the rowdy sort of course.”

Shelagh finds herself grinning at the memory, “I would have never heard the end of it, I assure you.”

“You two used to court each other?” Her grin falters, the sight of Patrick’s eyes follow along the lean edges of Jamey’s outline has her swallowing down the flirtation that naturally comes with Jamey.

“A long time ago, dearest. Much has changed since then, hasn’t it, Jamey?”

“You have done most of the changing, I’m afraid to confess.” Jamey sheepishly looks between the married couple flanking both sides of him. “A nun, who is no longer a nun, but with a husband and family of three. I’m afraid all I have to offer in vast changes is my age since the last time I have seen you.” He kills his cigarette against the wall and buries the rest of his fag in his pocket. “I have to say, you are looking good, Lee. It must be all of these wagers between you and Patrick here.”

To anybody else, the joke comes out lighthearted and funny, but to her trained ears, she can hear the anguish. “Jamey—”

“Thank you again for putting me up for the night.” He gives them a tight smile, “Good night.” He turns and walks back into the house, leaving both Patrick and Shelagh in a drowning silence.

Patrick buries his hands deep inside his pockets, his hazel eyes that she has adored both in silence and in pleasure drills into the back of her head. “I would like to know the story,” his voice laced with confusion and hurt, “however, I think we would need to make ourselves comfortable in the privacy of our own room.”

“Finish your cigarette, dear. I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.”

 

* * *

 

Shelagh threads her brush through her hair, seeing Patrick closing the door in the reflection of the mirror. “Jamey had told me that you were going to give him the sheets and pillow.”

“He’s set up and is already laying down.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, “Did he say anything to you?”

“No.” He lifts his brow. “Should he have?”

“No.”

Settling down on the edge of the bed, he threads his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I had a different idea on how this evening would end. Talking about an old beau was, admittedly, not one of them.” He looks at her with a sheepish smile. “Having that same beau asleep on our couch downstairs never would have even crossed my mind.”

“When you first said his name, I didn’t even think it would be him.” Her teeth digs into her bottom lip. “When I had left Aberdeen, it was right after his funeral.”

“He had told me when I had picked him up that he was a POW under the Germans.” He runs his palm along his jaw, “That is why it’s been hard for him to acquire a job. He is highly qualified, yet, no one wants to deal with any of the fallout if he has an episode.”

Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach; the idea of him being imprisoned by the Germans sends a sharp shiver down her spine. The stories she had heard from several accounts would give her nightmares for weeks at a time. To know that he had gone through that, that for so long, torture was his way of life, tears quickly gather along the corner of her eyes. “Is that why you brought him on?”

“Partly. He had great references with no one mentioning an episode whatsoever. I wouldn’t have known about his time in the war if he didn’t mention it.”

“Are you worried now?”

“Of the war neuroses? Never.” His hands begin to fidget in his lap. “I know from my own experience that there are certain things that trigger such an episode. I have learned, just as I am sure he has, how to stay away from such triggers,” he nervously looks to her, “and who to go to if those triggers become too much to handle.”

A lone tear falls along the inside of her cheek. “Patrick, I—”

“However, I don’t think that was what you were really asking.” He clasps his hands to try to put an end to his busy fingers. “I think what you are asking is if I should be afraid of losing you?” He takes a deep breath. “The answer to that is every day. Every day I’m afraid of losing you; rather if it’s from an accident, TB, a patient who would take their anger out on you, or a handsome old beau showing up to sweep you off your feet.”

She stands from her chair and settles down next to Patrick, her hands wrapping around his arm. “I can assure you with every ounce of my heart and soul and the very essence of my being that you are the only one I see standing next to me in my future.”

He turns to her, cradling her cheeks with both of his palms. “You are everything to me.”

“As you are to me,” she covers the back of his hands with her own. Pulling one down, she gently kisses his palm like he had done so many years ago. “I love you, Patrick.” She leans her forehead against his own.

“I have been wanting to kiss you since you got home,” he kisses her cheek, “however, after the trying day you have had, I feel as though you will not return the affection.”

“My darling,” she climbs into his lap, “after the day I have had, I look forward to your touch just as reverently as a thirsty man would look upon a cup full of water.”

“I would normally say that I have been looking forward to this since you have left early this morning,” his impatient fingers pulls apart her dressing gown, “however, that would be a lie.” He shoves the straps of her bra down her arms, freeing the breasts he worships every chance he has. “I need assurance, a confirmation if you will, that you are still mine.”

She understands, as barbaric as it sounds to hear him say that, she knows that this was something unexpected, especially with her history as a nun. Whisking away the robe altogether, she hitches up her sleeping dress as he unbuckles his belt. “I’m yours, Patrick.”

Sweeping her underwear to the side, he bites down on her shoulder when she takes him in.

Their love making is messy and hurried, but its not without passion or desire to right all of the jealousy that she knows is flowing through his veins.

And when he is finished, their heart beats hammering in unison, does he ease her on the mattress and continues to pleasure her with his mouth. Bringing her to her peak with the pirouette of his tongue and the steel of his finger, he eases himself back in, this time taking her at a slow pace. “I love you, my darling Shelagh.”

She wraps her legs around his waist, the weight of his body soothing her soul. “You are my everything,” she kisses him along his Adam’s apple, the heat from their combined pleasures making their bodies slick.

When their desires have been sedated and they have been able to catch their breaths, Patrick pulls a cigarette from his own emergency reserves. “I’m sorry.”

Mesmerized by the cloud of smoke, she glances up to find guilt pinching along his brow. “Whatever for?”

“I doubted you, the strength of our love.” He takes a few more puffs, never daring to look at her. “And to top it all off I treated you as if I owned you.” 

“I doubted myself.” She takes his cigarette, helping him to finally look at her. “Never of your love for me or my love for you, but, I doubted my ability as a wife.” She bites down on her bottom lip, extinguishing the cigarette out into her glass of water. “What Jamey and I had was intense and to see him alive when I had thought him dead… it is rather shocking.”

“Do you want to be with him?”

“For a long time, I did. Then I had to live the rest of my life without him, first as a nun and then as your wife.”

After a long silence, he whispers, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I didn’t.” She takes a deep breath, “I don’t want to be with him, not with so many years between us since we last saw each other. When I told you that I see you in my future, I wasn’t sugarcoating a sticky situation, it is the truth.” She captures his hand. “However, I can’t lie and tell you that I feel nothing for Jamey. In fact, it was the thought of him that initially catapulted me into your arms.”

“How is that?”

“The nurses were talking about their first kisses after coming back from a fair with a goldfish. Jamey was my first kiss. Before that day, I had neatly placed memories of Jamey within a file I had promised never to open. But after that day, combined with my growing doubt of my vocation, I found myself thinking about love and kissing when I should have been thinking about my prayers.”

“And then I kissed you,” he raises her palm and gently kisses her the same place he had on that fateful day.

“Everything else fell into place, although, I didn’t know it just yet.”

Silence once again permeates the small space between them. “You know,” Patrick clears his throat, “I keep thinking about if I had seen Mariann walking through the door tonight, how I would feel. I think I would be just as confused as you are.” He turns to her, his hazel eyes stormy, yet resolute. “If it comes down to it, I will fight for you. You are my wife and the mother of my children; I will not let you go easily.”

Shelagh sighs, her worry ebbing away slightly, “That shall be easy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Patrick cracks his first smile since she saw him walking out into the back area.

“Truth be told; I find it incredible attractive to see you this passionate about our relationship.”

“I forget sometimes how much you like for me to take control,” he lays his hand on her bare thigh, “until you say something like that to me.”

“And where would you like me now, dearest?”

“Anywhere where I feel your arms wrapped around me, my darling wife.” They both move down further under the sheets, his leg already making its move over her knee.


	4. Chapter 4

** May 1944 **

“Jamey!” Shelagh runs down the road, kicking up dirt in her wake. “They are coming home!” She leaps into his arms, his hold on her lifting her up. Wrapping her fingers along his jaw, she kisses him without a care in the world.

Twirling her around, Jamey’s hand slides up to the small of her back, her lips now tracing his cheek. “Who is coming home?”

“Caelan and Fin!” She wraps her arms around his neck. “They’ll be here within the week. I can’t wait to see them!”

“Just in time for the Summer Bonfire.”

Shelagh scrunches her brow, “You know my father won’t allow me to go to that.”

“I know! That’s why I’m going to sneak you out,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “with the help of your brothers of course.”

“But I’ll smell like smoke. He’ll catch on and punish me.”

He sets her back down, his hands never leaving her body. “Smuggle out an extra set of clothes. I’ll hide them in the barn and those are the clothes you can wear.” He leans down and quickly kisses her before stepping out of their embrace. “Now that that is settled, let’s go.”

He captures her hand and tugs her down the road both of their families share. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She snuggles up to him, her arm wrapping around his, a gentle kiss left on his shoulder, “You know I don’t like secrets.”

Jamey looks down at her, his playful smile still causing her stomach to flip inside out. “I could never say no to you.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m taking you on a picnic down by the stream.”

“That place we used to play when we were kids?” Memories of the four of them running around all day by that stream fills her mind, happiness seeping out of every pore. “I thought it had become overgrown?”

“I trimmed it back,” he kisses her forehead, “a nice little hiding spot for just us.”

“A perfect spot for us to go swimming later,” she grins when she notices his ears turning bright red. “In our underthings, of course.”

“Of course,” he gruffly replies, kissing the top of her head again. “You have become such a bold girl.”

Her stomach does all sorts of summersaults against her sternum, the tall grass grazing her ankles as she tightens her arm around his. “Am I?” Her voice quivers. “Am I your girl?”  

He takes a deep breath, her nerves baring down on her shoulders, “Our families will not approve, our friends won’t understand, but I am certain that you are my girl if you’ll allow me to be your man.”

She glances up, her smile wide and bright, “I would like it very much.” As they step down towards the bank, she is left bereft of oxygen as she takes in the heaven around them. Many of the flowers and plants that have grown in abundance since the springtime have been arranged in a way that makes her think of a secret garden. “This is…,” she tries to take in every inch of the beauty around her, “this is absolutely beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Jamey kiss her cheek before pulling her towards the blanket with the basket of food.

“Jamey,” she stops him just before they get to the blanket, “I think… I think…” She wants to tell him of her love, but fear keeps it locked away in her throat, the intensity of war always reminding her to be cautious.

He gives her hand three squeezes, “I know. I think I feel the same way.”

She leans in and kisses his lips, “Then let this be our testimony; our own hideaway, our kisses, and the three squeezes we give each other.”

He captures her cheeks, love staining his chocolatey brown eyes, “I am most certain, Lee, that my love for you will outgrow our testimony. Let us pray that the war will be over soon.”

She wraps her arms around his waist, his strength, his warmth protecting her, comforting her from everything outside of her control.

“Every time we embrace, I am always reminded of Corinthians,” he kisses the tip of her nose, “you are the very essence of love.” He kisses her lips, the love he murmurs being felt all the way down to her toes. “Come, let’s enjoy ourselves,” he pulls her down onto the blanket.  
  


* * *

 

“Good morning, Lee,” Jamey glances up from the Lancet with a sneaky smile. “Still an early riser I see.”

Shelagh pins back the rest of her hair, “You as well, although, you don’t seem to be as grumpy as you used to be.” They share a small smile together. “Would you like some coffee.”

He throws the magazine off to the side and stands, “I would love some, but I can make it. You allowed me to stay at your house and, while my culinary skills are shit, my coffee making skills have been perfected.”

His boyish features endears him to her heart, the truth about what had happened to him during the war tugging back and forth like strings in her belly. “Jamey—”

“He told you, didn’t he?” Her brow knits in confusion. “About the POW bit?”

“I’m sorry that that had happened to you.”

“It happened to a lot of good chaps and, to be honest Lee, I would rather not talk about it.” He stares down at the floor. “It’s in the past now and I would rather move on from it.”

“If ever you need to talk about it,” she captures his hand and gives him three squeezes like she used to do when they were teenagers, “I’m here for you.”

He gives her three squeezes back and let’s go. “I appreciate that, far more than you know, however, I don’t think Patrick would like that.”

Thinking back to her conversation and activities last night with Patrick, Shelagh agrees with his statement. However, Jamey is still her friend and Patrick would give a listening ear to any friend, regardless if they were a man or a woman. _I’m sure there are some women that would do more than just talking, if they had the chance, but that is neither here nor there._ “Our history together complicates matters a wee bit, but I think he would understand if you needed someone to talk to.”

He opens his mouth, yet closes it before he can say a word and smiles a tight smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He turns towards the cabinets, “Now just show me where the coffee pot is and I’ll have this house smelling of delicious caffeine in no time.”

Pulling out all the items needed, both get to work making breakfast for the family.

While the coffee steeps, Jamey asks, “Where is the rest of the Turner clan?”

“Asleep,” she throws over her shoulder, the sound of bacon sizzling making her flustered. “This is usually part of my ritual; wake up, recite my normal prayers, and get breakfast ready before anyone thinks of opening their eyes.”

“Hmm,” he smirks.

“What?” At his silence, she turns down the heat and twirls to face him with her hands on her hips. “I remember that look. It’s the same mischief you would give the teachers when you wanted to say something smart, but knew you would get slapped for such cheek.”

“I remember an old buddy of mine, he would tell me that he and his wife would constantly fall in the family way with those rare ‘quiet mornings’.”

Shelagh blushes something fierce, giddiness bubbling from her stomach and reaching her heart.

“We had a nice, quiet evening.”

Both snap towards the new voice; Jamey rightfully looking sheepish, while Shelagh turns a deeper crimson color. “Patrick!”

“Good morning, Doctor Campbell.” Patrick nods to the younger man. “Shelagh, can I see you for a moment. I need your help upstairs.” He steps to the side, patiently waiting for her to join him. Removing the pan from the heat, she notices that Jamey is making himself busy with the coffee.

Following her husband up the stairs, she notices that all the children are still quietly asleep. Once they step inside their bedroom, Shelagh sighs, “Patrick, what you heard—”

Shutting the door, Patrick pulls her into his embrace, his lips quieting her excuse. Instantly diving for her perfectly placed uniform, he has the top half already down around her waist by the time her mind catches up with what he is doing.

Pulling away a quarter of an inch, Shelagh sighs as Patrick takes advantage of her neck. “Patrick,” the plea of his name comes out more as a hungry moan, which makes his advances needy and shameless.

“I want you,” he growls, pushing the rest of her dress around her ankles.

“We have to get breakfast ready.” Her excuse is weak, especially when her fingers begins to pull at his belt.

“Breakfast can wait,” he lifts her up and buries himself in her.

She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from moaning too loudly to wake up the children – or worse letting on as to what they are really doing in their bedroom.

“You feel…,” he rocks back and forth, his fingers digging into the back of her thighs. “You feel like home.”

And despite the myriad of emotions assaulting her conscious, she now understands where this strange behavior is coming from. “You are my everything.”

Like a starters pistol, the pace of his hips doubles as his lips once again finds the small stretch of skin he had discovered that drives her crazy early on in their marriage. Reaching his peak before his wife, he scrambles down onto his knees, throwing her leg over his shoulder, his mouth working its magic between her quivering thighs.

Losing all sensibility, she threads her fingers through his hair, the tip of his tongue has her seeing stars and losing her breath until she is collapsed against the door. Seconds – or perhaps hours – ticks by until she is able to formulate any type of coherent thought. “He wasn’t flirting.”

“I know what he was implying,” his arms wraps around her tiny waist, pressing his ear against her stomach.

She sighs, her fingers still playing with the tips of his salt and pepper hair.

“I know you are faithful to this marriage and to our family, but I saw you smiling at him and it was different than the way you smile at me.” He gently kisses her belly. “Something snapped inside me. I wanted you. I wanted to show him that you are mine.” He looks up to her, guilt clouding his hazel eyes, “I’m not sorry.”

Her heart instantly melts. “Patrick, you are going to have to trust me.”

“I do, I promise I do.” She lifts her brow and he rightfully bows his head sheepishly. “I know my recent behavior doesn’t show it, but I do trust you. It’s him. He looks at you as if… I don’t know… as if you are pure sunshine on his cloudy days.”

“And so every time I smile at him, you’re going to have this reaction?” She tilts his chin up with the tip of her finger. “Pushing me against any flat surface just to affirm my love for you?”

“It’s not the worst way to spend time with my wife,” he cheekily smirks.

Pushing his arms away from her, she steps out from his embrace. “It sounds an awful lot like you don’t trust me.” She picks up her clothes and throws him his belt. “We have to clean up before waking the children.” She walks into their bathroom without another glance back.

Tugging the washcloth off the rack, she douses it in water and wipes the sweat away. By the time she pulls on her underwear, he calls to her from the door, “I’m sorry. I’m going to try harder to control my feelings.”

“I understand the reasoning, I really do, but we are going to run ourselves ragged if this is your reaction every time I smile at Jamey.” She glances at him through the reflection of the mirror to see him grinding his teeth. “I will start by calling him James, but I can’t make him call me by my given name.”

“I don’t want you to be alone with him,” his confession is set to a whisper, yet his eyes are steely and resolute.

“That would be rather hard if he is a doctor in the same district I nurse in,” she gives him a pointed look and sighs, understanding as to what he is asking her pounding against her skull. “I know what you are asking. While you work on controlling your jealousy, I will work on not giving you a reason to displace you trust in me.”

He nods and, for the first time since the previous night, he finally cracks a small smile. “I love you, my darling wife.”

“I love you, my dearest husband.” She returns back to her cleaning. “Now go wake the children. They will need to get ready to go to Mrs. Hubbard’s.”

 

* * *

 

“Ugh,” Timothy ambles through the kitchen, his stomach rumbling at the smells assaulting his his equilibrium.

“There’s some coffee in the pot,” Jamey calls over his shoulder. “That should help with the headache.”

Timothy rightfully looks embarrassed, “Are you going to tell my dad or mum?” He had made sure to be home by his curfew, however, his older friends were able to buy him a few pints of beer. However, when he walked in, he had to cut into the bathroom, the amount of beer cruelly mixing with the one shot of alcohol that came after the concert.

Jamey shrugs his shoulders, “It’s none of my business, however, with the amount that came up, I would suggest taking it easier next time.” Placing the pan of eggs and bacon on the table, he quietly asks, “Where are your parents at?”

“In their room,” he can feel his cheeks blush, the sounds of their time together still ringing in his ears. _Mush doesn’t even begin to describe it._ He looks up to the older man with a thankful smile on his lips, yet he notices that Doctor Campbell is staring at the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he shakes his head, “yes, I am.”

“But mummy, I want to wook pretty wike you,” the sound of his younger sister sets his teeth on edge, yet for the sake of staying un-grounded, Timothy puts on a tired smile as the rest of his family comes down.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“So how has your first week been?” Shelagh leans against the door of Jamey’s – _James_ , her mind exclaims – small office door.

He glances up from his notes, the stress of the week weighing down on his shoulders. “The living conditions in some of these homes are quite deplorable.”

“The state of homes have vastly improved since the first time I had set foot in Poplar, along with the health of our patients.” She gives him a small smile. “When I came as a postulant, the National Health was just starting to take hold. These people are far from rich, but they are happy and that’s what matters.”

“I still can’t imagine you as a postulant,” his grin widens, “not after the last time I had seen you.”

Shelagh blushes as she looks both ways down the corridor. “James, you have to stop with that.”

“James? What’s with the formality?” She had forgotten that she has yet to see him within the week. The morning after his arrival, Patrick and Tim helped move his things into his flat and, with the general craziness of the week, she had been so busy to check in on him. When she finally asked Patrick, he had told her that he was getting on just fine and then went on to ravish her body. She steps in, but leaves the door wide open, despite wanting to keep their conversation private. “I’m married, James. I can’t carry on like how things used to be twenty years ago.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, the simple act making her stomach flip just like when he used to do it on the farm. “I know and I’m sorry, but to see you again when I never thought I would ever clap eyes on you…,” he shakes his head, “I count myself lucky.”

“It’s been wonderful to see you, however, you have to remember that I’m no longer that girl you helped sneak out to the dance halls.”

“No, you’re not, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about sneaking you out to take you to a pub, for old times sake.” His smirk returns, the lines of his dimples setting deep lines along his cheeks.

“Jamey!”

“There it is, the same ol’ Lee that has been hiding underneath that nurse’s uniform.”

“Stop,” she glances over her shoulder to see an empty hallway, “you can’t say things like that.”

“But you like it,” he throws down his pen when she vehemently shakes her head. “Oh, come now Lee. I’m just playing around with you.”

“Yes, well, there are also a lot of gossiping women around her too. My reputation as well as my family’s reputation can be tarnished by you ‘playing around’.”

“You’re right,” Jamey stands from his desk and walks around, “I’m sorry, truly.” He glances down the corridor to see it just as bare as when she checked it a moment prior. “But if I may be so bold for the last time for the rest of my life, your birthmark is one of the few things that helped me out of the darkness of my holding cell. For that, I am incredibly thankful.”

Looking up, expecting to see him smirking, she is surprised to see his jovial features somber. For one spare second, she wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, to comfort him the same way he had comforted her so long ago. His lips are so terribly close, the pull to taste them causes her to take a step back. Checking down the hallway yet again, she swallows past the knot of guilt lodged against her throat before turning away from him.

 

* * *

 

** Late October 1944 **

“Vake up!”

Jamey opens his bleary eyes, the sight of silky smooth skin diminishing, he grumbles to the Nazi youth, “I was in the middle of a glorious dream.”

The young man in his brand new uniform rewards his cheek with a gut-check with the butt of his rifle. “I said, vake up.”

“Alright, alright, there’s no need for violence.” Pushing himself up off the cot, he buttons up his jacket and ties his boots. Wiping the bleary sleep out of his eyes, he silently follows the boy out of his cage, knowing the same monotonous drill since being taken here after his unit was bombarded less than a month back. “Wouldn’t you rather be chasing after girls.”

“No.”

“You would rather be with a bunch of English chaps rather than girls?” He blows a low whistle, “Its so sad how the war has wrapped your sense of fun.”

“The Aryan Nation will prosper under Führer Hitler. Vonce we have succeeded in flying the German flag all over the world, then I will think about Liesl.”

“Ahh, Liesl is her name?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Shelagh is the name of my girl and she is absolutely perfect without the German Flag draped over her head.”

“Liesl is a proud German.” He steps to the side to allow his prisoner to go down the stairs first. “She finds me quite handsome in my uniform.”

“Let me let you in on a tiny secret no one tells you,” he leans in, “any woman loves to see any man in an uniform.” He gives a wink before heading down the stairs.

“Have you made love to your voman?” 

“Not yet, but when I get back, I’m going to marry her the first chance I get.”

“You are our prisoner indefinitely. You will never see your voman again.”

“I hate to break it to you kid, but the German defenses are weakening. Unfortunately for you, they will be sending you out to the front lines with all the old folks while your führer will remain cozy behind his fortified desk.”

“You lie.”

“Why do you think there are less guards here than there was when I got here.”

“You spread lies.”

“And you honestly think the Allies are just going to lay down their armory and allow you to take over our respective countries? If the English and the Americans won’t get you from the west, then the Russians will definitely catch you from the east.”

Before opening the door leading out to the courtyard, the young German leans in and whispers, “Where do you receive such information?”

“I don’t need information if you can grasp common sense and geography.” The prisoner glances both ways down the long, dark corridor. “My advice to you is to go home to your girl. Make love to her, kiss her, tell her all the things you want her to know.” Pulling the door open, he walks out into the chilly morning sun with his other POWs mates.

Lining up in formation, they stand at attention as the secretary to the Commandant calls out their names.

When it came to his name, “Lieutenant James Campbell.” Jamey speaks up, “here.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve missed you all day,” Patrick nuzzles into the crook of her neck, the heat from his breath causing goosebumps to rise over the expanse of her bare skin.

“I went to go find you at the surgery, but you had already left.” Shelagh bites down on her bottom lip, the memory of her conversation with Jamey – _James_! – replaying in her head.

For a fraction of a second, she can feel his muscles tense under her fingers, “When I had left, the newest GP was adding to his notes.” Lifting himself up, he gives his wife a kiss on the cheek before moving to the side to put on his boxers. “I don’t think he was expecting to find living conditions here the way that they are.”

Staring at her husband’s bare back, her fingers lightly trace a line connecting all of the tiny freckles peppering his skin. Every day since the night Jamey had come back into her life, Patrick has been insistent on making love to her. Some nights, he would completely ravish her body, while others, he would take his time, using just the tip of his tongue to bring her to her peak.

Tonight, he had told her that he needed to catch up on the newest edition of the Lancet, however, with Jamey’s words replaying over and over again like a broken record in her head, she had thrown his magazine clear across the room and assaulted his lips. Only once did her mind wonder to that night in the barn, his fingers touching her bare skin. To help cast her mind from that memory, she had climbed on top of him, desperate to feel Patrick go deeper within her. 

He glances over his shoulder, “Did he say something to you?”

“We talked about his first week.” He stands up from the bed, their connection lost within his frustrated sigh. “He wanted to joke around, but I put a stop to it.”

He nods his head, yet worry still draws his brows down. “I’m going to go wash up.”

Her stomach flips, her legs already off of the bed. They had always made clean up after sex fun, to the point where they needed to clean up a second time around. “I will help.”

“No!” He takes a deep breath. “No, I’m going to be in and out. I really do need to catch up on the newest Lancet edition.”

She falls back onto the bed, “Okay.” Her heart now sinks into the pit of her belly. He had always loved the clean up just as much as she did and for him to say no to her… _is this all because of Jamey’s presence?_

“It’s not because of what you think.”

“Since I mentioned that I have seen him today, you have shied away from my touch.” Her teeth chews onto her bottom lip. “The last time you did that was after your episode and before we adopted Angela.”

“I’m sorry.” His words are devoid of life, of fight. “I’m trying to not let it get to me, but right now, I need some time to breath.”

“Just as long as you are not running away from me.”

“Never.” He finally turns to face her. “You are my everything.” He gives her a small smile before walking into the bathroom.

Watching his retreating backside, she picks out her nightgown from her wardrobe. Staring into the mirror, she draws her finger along the darkened birthmark just as her breast curves into her sternum.


	6. Chapter 6

“You’ve been here for a few weeks, Doctor Campbell,” Sister Julienne gives the young doctor a kind smile, “how are you liking Poplar?”

“It’s been a wee bit of an adjustment, but I’m finding that I like it very much.”

“Goodness me, that accent throws me off every time,” Valarie quips. “It reminds me so much of Mrs. Turner’s.”

Everyone around the table, including Patrick, looks to the smaller nurse stuffing her mouth with Shepard’s Pie. She swallows the piping hot potatoes as best as she can without causing a scene.

“We grew up in the same area,” Jamey fills in. “We even went to the same school, however, I barely remember seeing her.”

“What a marvelous coincidence,” Trixie exclaims. She turns to Shelagh, “Do you remember him from school?”

Shelagh can feel her husband’s eyes boring into her as she gulps down her remaining food, “No. During the war, the city council combined schools to help with the war efforts. Besides, for the most part, the girls and boys were kept separated.”

“The boys trained to be soldiers, while the girls helped with making items for us to take.”

“I believe that’s how most of the country was,” Phyllis speaks out.

“Still,” Trixie sighs, “that’s incredibly rare to work with someone you went to school with hundreds of miles away.”

After a few silent beats, another topic is chosen while everyone finishes their lunch. Just as Shelagh is about to spoon a better bite sized portion in her mouth, she feels a warm palm laying on the top of her thigh. Knowing that touch anywhere, she glances over to Patrick and carefully shakes her head.

He gives her a sneaky grin back as his fingers pushes the hem of her dress up.

She tries to shoo him away with her free hand, yet that only hastens him to bury his hand under her skirt. When she tries to pull away her leg, he tightens his grip by digging the tips of his fingers under her garter. Giving him a pointed look, she returns to her meal, resigned in ignoring her husbands behavior.

It works for the most part until dessert comes out, a coconut cream pie with pastel little button pieces for the Easter eggs. Just as she reaches for her plate, the tip of his finger brushes along the inside of her thigh. Biting down on her bottom lip to keep herself from making a damn fool of herself, she pushes his hand away from underneath her skirt just before abruptly standing from her seat. “Please excuse me, Sister, I’m not feeling well at the present moment.”

When Sister Julienne nods, Shelagh all but runs from the room upstairs towards the lavatory. Once she is behind the safety of the locked door, she rushes to the sink to help wash away her flustered cheeks. She hadn’t felt this way since Sister Evangelina walked in on her and Patrick snogging in his office. It was still rather early in their marriage, so her former sister had blamed it on them still being newlyweds.

—Knock,Knock—

“Shelagh, are you okay?”

Even through the thick wooden door, she can hear his cheeky smirk. “Just fine. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Can I come in to check on you?” His voice is the perfection of a concerned doctor, yet, she knows her husband rather well. He will lose that doctor’s voice the moment she lets him in.

“No, thank you. I shall be out very soon.”

“Very well,” he concedes, “however, I hate to report that most of the nurses believe that you are in the family way again.”

She quickly opens the door, “Patrick, no.”

“No they didn’t,” he pushes her in and closes the door behind him, “but it got you to open the door for me.”

“We can’t. Not right now.” He backs her up to the sink and reaches out to turn it on. “We are about to go to Easter Service.”

“Then I will make sure to be very quick,” he twirls her around. Lifting her skirt up, his fingers dives into her underwear. “I love it when you don’t wear that blasted girdle.”

Gripping the sink with one hand and the wall with the other, she bites down on her lip to keep from moaning out loud when his finger slips into her.

“You are absolutely gorgeous when you look like this,” his hushed words collide against the heat of her skin. “Look up. I want you to see yourself as how I see you.”

Possibly one of the most reckless things that she has done, she is taken by surprised at how quickly he brings her to her blissful peak. And just as she swan dives off that tall cliff, she feels his arms wrap around her body, shielding her, protecting her as stars burst in her vision.

“You are so beautiful, my darling,” he kisses the sweaty nape of her neck. “I’m sorry for pushing you away a few nights ago.”

She closes her eyes, the intensity of her orgasm still pounding against her chest.

He gently pulls his hand out from her underwear and returns her skirt back to perfection. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She finally opens her eyes and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. Turning back towards the sink, both wash their hands.

No other words are shared as they walk back into the dining room, yet, she still clings to his arm, her legs feeling as if they are about to give out at any moment. “I’m sorry for my quick departure.”

Sister Julienne invites her to sit next to her, the nurses having already filed out to help clean the dishes. “Are you alright, my dear?”

“Yes, Sister, I’m just rather tired from the previous night with Carla Windom.” She can feel Jamey’s eyes raking over her body, yet she decides to ignore him all for the sake of her husband.

“Lunch is packed away,” Sister Winifred comes out from the kitchen. “Are you feeling better, Mrs. Turner? The Doctor had mentioned that you were exhausted from Mrs. Windom’s birth last night.”

Tucking away her smile, she privately revels in the way her and Patrick can fill in each other’s thoughts so perfectly. “I think after the Easter Service I’ll have Doctor Turner take me home to rest up before the children come home from their Easter Egg Hunt.” She looks over to see their youngest two playing together on the carpet.

“I had wanted to ask where the eldest Master Turner was, if you don’t mind me prying,” Phyllis hands her a well sugared cup of tea.

“He is spending Easter with his grandmother,” Patrick answers for her.

“Come along, troops.” Valarie marches in with her coat already on. “It’s time to get going.”

 

* * *

 

“You know, most of the nurses thinks you are in the family way,” Jamey grins as he pulls his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. “I think you were up to naughtier activities.”

She looks around to make sure that no one is within ear shot of their conversation. “I am not feeling well and that is all.”

“Your eyes get shifty when you are doing something you know you’re not supposed to.”

“No they don’t.”

“How do you think your brothers caught on when I took you behind the barn during the bonfire?”

She ignores his question with the roll of her eyes as she watches the people walk out from the congregation. Patrick had stayed back to talk with the new cleric about his pregnant wife. “Thank you for saying what you said at lunch.”

“I understand you want to keep the gossip down to a minimum.” He blows out the smoke from his cigarette through his nose. “What we had said was not a lie, but an omission that no one had asked further questions about.” With the silence of their conversation driving a wedge through the springtime sun, Jamey finishes his cigarette and stomps it out. “I find myself liking this area. It reminds me so much of home.”

“It’s a difficult area, yet, once you have found your place, life becomes a bit easier.”

“It also reminds me of my time in my first POW camp. Yes, we were prisoners, but we were still treated with respect, largely thanks to the Geneva Convention.” She glances over to him to see him staring at the church. “Once I found my niche, life became a wee bit easier.” Even in the bright sunshine, she can see him losing every bit of coloring in his face. “That is until I was taken to another camp.”

“Jamey—”

“I see Patrick coming out. I hope you feel better, Mrs. Turner.” And before Patrick looks at her, he slips away as if he were not there.

Smiling as her husband walks up, he looks around and asks, “Where did Doctor Campbell go?”

“He had said that he was going back to his lodgings, having no need to be a part of the Easter Egg Hunt.”

“Are you ready to go, my darling?” The use of his affectionate word tingles up her spine. “Sister Winifred had offered to bring home the children after, and I quote, ‘their baskets are positively stuffed with yummy treats’.”

“Then let’s quickly leave before anyone else pulls us away from my rest time.”

“Gladly, my darling girl,” his eyes rakes along the length of her body, the feral taste of want driving him to push her towards the car, “gladly.”

 

* * *

 

** Early April 1944 **

“Come on, Lee,” Jamey whines under his breath, “if we leave now, we can get a good seat around the bonfire.”

“Caelan and Fin have not left yet. Father will notice that I’m missing.”

“Not if you tell them that you’re going to bed.” He gives her the puppy dog eyes that she has the hardest time saying no to.

“Very well,” she sighs, squeezing his hand three times, their silent declaration of their feelings for each other. “Give me about thirty minutes.” When he nods, she closes the window and goes out to see her brothers putting on their coats. “Where are you two off to?”

“The bonfire, of course,” Fin wiggles his eyebrows.

“Enjoying ourselves before meeting up with our regiment,” Caelan adds.

“Care to join us?” She can’t help but blush at Fin’s invitation.

“She’s too young to do such nonsense,” her father answers for her. “It’s your bedtime anyways.”

“Come now, father, she’s seventeen.”

“She’s old enough to go to the bonfire with us as her chaperones.”

“No is my final answer.” His piercing blue eyes ticks between his three children. “Now you two get going before I change my mind about you.”

As her brothers file out of the house, she kisses her father on the cheek, “Good night, da.”

“Good night, my lil one.” She marches into her bedroom and falls onto the bed. Watching the shadows dance upon the ceiling, she thinks back to the weeks since her first kiss with Jamey.

They had agreed to keep everything quiet, mainly because she knew her father would not approve. While both families have enjoyed being each other’s neighbors, her father would not like the idea of her being courted by a Catholic. Since the combination of both the Catholic and public school, it has left a bitter taste in her hometown which is already pulled at the seams by the war.

 _There seems to be no end in sight_. Every time that she hears of a victory, the amount of letters and body bags doubles – sometimes even triples. She knows that her brothers are going to war soon and that Jamey will follow behind them and it scares her. The idea of never seeing any of them again…

She shivers despite the warm night.

Spring has come to their little small corner of the world and she loves that it has come on the curtails of her kiss with Jamey.

 _I still have a hard time figuring out when things changed between us_ , she smiles, her fingers picking at the top button of her dress. One moment, the four of them would spend their free time playing out by the creek and the next, her bothers were being called into National Service. While her and Jamey carried on as friends, that one night in the barn changed everything.

Now, with their little hideaway down by the creek, they have both spent their free times either there during the day or in his barn at night. Most times, they just talk about whatever comes to mind, but they would always end it with kissing. _And as much as I enjoy kissing him, I must now take into consideration all of the changes within my life_.

For the longest time, she has wrestled with the thought of joining the religious order, however, now with her new relationship with Jamey and their desire to take it beyond the war, she is unsure where her path lies. _What if this blasted war goes on forever? What if something happens to him? What if my calling into the religious life is too strong to ignore? What if we go beyond kissing?_

The last time they had kissed in the barn, he had touched her on her breast. She was surprised at how much she liked it.

—Tap, tap, tap—

 _Has it been thirty minutes already?_ Carefully, she opens the door to hear the tall tell sounds of her father’s snores echoing through the house.

Checking her bag for the cigarettes, she quietly opens the window and slips out. “My brothers are already on their way. You have to make sure not to kiss me tonight.”

“Although the idea of not tasting your lips has me rather depressed, I think I would be advantageous for my health if we heed your warning.” He holds his hand out, helping her out of the window.

“More like my brothers will clobber you and tease me until my dying day.”

“Do you trust me, Lee?”

She squeezes his palm three times, “More than anything else.”

He gives her a boyish grin before pulling her across the field.


	7. Chapter 7

** June 1944 **

“Father, your porridge will be out soon,” Shelagh spoons the cooling cereal into both bowls, smiling as a breeze finds its way through the open window.

“Thank you, my lil one,” he kisses the top of her head. “I will take the bacon sandwich with me to… to…”

Shelagh looks up to see her father staring out of the window. A car is driving up to their house, the dirt kicking up, creating a cloud of dust. “Father?”

He already has the door open, “Stay in here Shelagh.”

From her perch in front of the kitchen window, she sees both Father Tomlinson as well as Sister Josephine. Instantly her heart falls into the pit of her belly. News of the Allies success in advancing onto the mainland coming through the radio had instantly brought letters of death and despair to many families. They had not received such letters, she was hopeful that Fin and Caelan had made it with their unit.

Clutching onto the sink, Shelagh watches with trepidation as Sister Josephine walks up to the porch.

“Shelagh,” the older nun quietly calls out from the door.

“Please don’t say it, Sister.” Shelagh refuses to turn to the woman she considers a mother. “I have been praying so hard for their safety, every night, every day.” She can already hear the slip of breath, the verses on love and loss, coiling through the air. “And, please, do not tell me that God has a plan.”

“Shelagh—”

“Which one?” Shelagh musters the strength to glance at Sister Josephine. Her heart instantly breaks just by the look on her face. “Tell me. Which one am I never going to see again?”

Sister Josephine takes a step closer, yet keeps her hands clenched together in silent prayer. Shelagh knows the answer to her question before it is verbally given. “They were able to retrieve Fin’s blessed body, however, we had received word through the war department that Caelan’s ship was destroyed before reaching the coastline.” Shelagh holds her breath until Sister Josephine murmurs, “All souls were lost.”

Her legs give out. “No! That can’t be.”

Sister Josephine is next to her, but she can’t feel her. “I know this is the worse news to hear, my dear.”

“No.” Tears stream down her cheeks, the thought of never seeing her brother again punches her directly in the heart, her body convulsing under such shock. “No.”

Sister Josephine clasps her hands over Shelagh’s, “I’m going to pray for you and your family, my dearest girl.”

Shelagh closes her eyes, the gentle words washing over her, yet it doesn’t bring her comfort like it has in the past. Instead, loneliness converges onto her shoulders, weighing down at the stark silence now ringing in her ears.

 

* * *

 

“Greetings,” Shelagh walks into Jamey’s office with a stack of files. “These are the files relating to your new patients.”

Shoving a leather bag into his his top drawer, he smiles, “Peachy, Lee.” When she drops them on his desk, his smile slips into a sneaky grin, “How was your Easter? I have to say, you are looking rather refreshed.”

She blushes something fierce, “I’m feeling much better, thank you very much.”

As she turns to leave, he calls out to her, “You know, Patrick is one helluva guy.”

“He’s more than that,” she firmly replies back. “He doesn’t like it that you flirt with me.”

“No,” he hangs his head, the bitter taste of guilt coating his tongue. “If you were my wife and he was flirting with you, I would knock his socks off.” The idea of her as his wife sends his stomach into a fluttering mess. For so many years, he had dreamed about it, longed for it. _But that’s neither here nor there._ “If your brothers saw the way I am acting right now, they would give me a dental check with their bare knuckles.”

“Free of charge,” Lee gives him a small smile.

In his most desperate hour, he lived for that smile. _I still do._ “It’s hard to…,” he sighs, the truth coiled in his chest, choking around his throat, “it’s hard to think that both Fin and Caelan have been gone for twenty years.” He takes a deep breath and sits up straight. “Thank you for bringing these case files to me. I shall see you at clinic tomorrow.”

Mentally counting the seconds that she stares at him, he makes it to five when she quietly nods and leaves with the click of the door.

_I fucked up my chance with her. I should have contacted her a long time ago when I had the chance. Now, she’s married with kids. How could I ever compete with that?_

He pulls the files closer to him. _There is no need to compete. She is happily married without you and I need to do the honorable thing by leaving her alone and doing my job._ _Fin and Caelan truly would have rearranged my teeth for interfering._

He taps his pen against the desk. _Shelagh._ He always loved calling her by her nickname, but with his resolve set in, he knows he has to make changes.

 _Mrs. Turner._ His nose turns at the formality.

Throwing his pen on the files, he pulls the brown leather case out from his top drawer.

_Shelagh._

He had taken it from a patient with the provision that he finds the help that he needs. He should have disposed of it properly, but his day became so busy and now with the obvious love she has for her husband staring at him square in the face...

_Shelagh._

The vile is small, no more than one good dose or two small doses to help take the edge off. _The last time I had called her Shelagh, she had just pulled away her bra, her beautiful breasts shining in the pale moonlight._

It’s like riding a bike for him. He takes a needle from his drawer and slips it into the vile. _Just to help take the edge off._ He takes less than half, the clear liquid like pure gold. Rolling up his sleeve, he straps the band around his muscle, the numbers from his time in ‘Camp Hell’ encouraging him to finalize his decision.

_Shelagh will never do._

Instantly feeling the effects as the needle slips into his skin, his muscles instantly relaxes.

_Nurse Turner._

_Just for the edge,_ he keeps telling himself.

_Nurse Turner._

Yet, as he throws the needle in the garbage and closes the leather pouch, her name, the only name he had ever called her, still rings loudly in his head.

 

* * *

 

** Late November 1944 **

_Lee? Lee, where are you?_

_Jamey, come home_.

Her voice, sweet as the heather that can transform the green hills of Scotland purple, whispers along his subconscious.

He wishes he could go home, yet the train he is on – _more like the cattle car I am trapped on_ – is taking him further away from his love.

The car, filled to the max with people of all sizes and ages, rattles along. The stench of urine and feces keeping the prisoners surprisingly warm, yet the toxic smell of the dead making it hard to breath.

Jamey glances over to the smallest inhabitant, a boy not much older than twelve vomits. He had watched the boy being loaded three stops ago with a nasty gash on his leg. When the guards had closed the door, he had immediately waded his way to dress the wound as best as he could from the bits of cloth from the dead soul next to them and the limited training in first aid. Now, with their deplorable conditions worsening, Jamey fears that the boy will die within the day of infection.

He takes the last scrap of clean cloth to wipe the poor boy’s forehead.

“He is just a young boy,” an older gentleman next to Jamey whispers.

“Do you know his name?”

“I do not know anyone on this train,” he coughs into his sleeve, “however, the other men knew that he was part of the resistance. Shame, really, that the war has the power to make a boy grow into a man when he is still just a boy.”

“Were you part of the Resistance?”

“Heavens no,” he has the audacity to laugh with death all around him. “I am a doctor. I was found guilty for healing a group of Jewish Resistance fighters.”

“So you work for the Nazis?”

“No. I had no political affiliation, yet it chose me the day I saw those men on my way home to my family. Now, I am labeled a political traitor and am being sent to a camp.”

“Sachsenhausen. It’s a concentration camp.” Jamey continues to wipe the young boy’s brow.

“Why are you here? You should be covered under the Geneva Convention.”

“According to the commandant at the prison I was at, I forfeited that right when I convinced a young German Boy Scout that the end of the war was coming near and to spend his days making love to his girlfriend.”

“That is not painful enough to warrant a change.”

“It does when that boy was stupid enough to abandon his post and to blame it all on me before being shot.”

Silence permeates the freezing cold train car, the sounds of death and disease are their only strings of music being played.

“You are correct.” The older man tears his lapel off of his coat and gives it to Jamey to help wipe the feverish sweat from the dying boy’s forehead. “The war will be over soon. With the Allies coming in from the west and the Russians coming in from the east, it is only a matter of sheer willpower and months.”

“Let’s hope, for your sake and mine,” Jamey captures the boy’s wrist, “however it doesn’t help this boy or his family.”

“Has he died?”

“Yes.” His stomach lurches. _He was just a boy._ For the first time, in a long time, he whispers the prayers he was taught many years ago. The last time he had uttered them, he was burying his two best mates with their sister standing next to him.

 

* * *

 

“Have I ever told you about my brothers?”

Patrick glances up from feeding young Teddy, to see Shelagh staring down at what looks to be a beat up tin box.

“I didn’t even know you had brothers,” Timothy calls out from next to him, his homework now forgotten.

“Fin and Caelan.” An odd smile settles on her lips, one that brings no joy, no satisfaction, but rather bitter memories. She sits down in the chair opposite of Patrick. She had told him of her brothers, however, it had taken far more will power than she had thought she would have needed. In the end, he had comforted her as she cried into his chest. “They were killed in the war.” She she pulls a picture from the box, a school ring rattling against the tin, and lays it on the table.

“Teddy looks a lot like him,” Timothy points to the taller one.

“Caelan.”

“Is this the only picture that you have?”

Shelagh nods, running her finger along the edge. “In a fit of rage, my father burned all other photographs after their funerals.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “I was not able to salvage any pictures of my mother.”

“I’m sorry, mum.”

“It makes me sad when I think about them. They were funny and smart and… and…,” one lone tear trails down her cheek, “I miss them dearly.”

Capturing her hand, Patrick lightly squeezes her fingers, “I’m sorry, my darling.” 

Wiping away the tear with the back of her finger, she squeezes his hand back. “On my way home from the Surgery Center, it struck me that I had never shown either of you this picture that is most precious to me.”

A small giggle erupts from the silence.

Teddy coos and gurgles at all of the attention from his parents and older brother.

“If you put it in a safe spot, I can buy a frame for it,” Patrick lets go of Shelagh’s hand and resumes his feeding duties.

“If these pictures are so precious, why did your father burn them?” The sharpness of Timothy’s questions stings.

“He was angry at my mothers death, but it was my brothers he couldn’t stand. He had lost all of the ones that had meant the most to him.”

“But you were his daughter, surely you were—”

“The night he burned those pictures was the night he lost his mind. I was no longer a daughter to him, but more of a reminder of all that was lost.” She presses her lips into a thin, white line, “When the list of dead became longer and longer, I left and made my way to London where I decided to train as a nurse.”

“And your father?”

“He died not too long after I had left.” She gives her Turner men a sad smile. “And a few years after that, I received the calling into the religious life.”

“I’m sorry, mum.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” she reaches out and runs her finger along Timothy’s jaw.

He captures it and nuzzles his cheeks within her palm. “Don’t hide this picture. Let dad buy you a frame and put it next to the one of mummy.”

She sweeps her thumb along the top of his cheek bone. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re the last person I would see here,” James grimly murmurs, yet opens the door wide.

“I would have not come here if it wasn’t for Shelagh,” Patrick sighs as he slips in and shuts the door.

“Why,” James instantly becomes alert. “Is she okay?”

“She is fine,” Patrick quips. “I was wondering if you had any pictures of her family?”

“I only have one, but it’s my only copy.” James squints his eyes, “Why?”

“When we married, she had told me of Caelan and Fin. However, I didn’t know that her father burned all of the photographs of her family.”

“I remember that night.” James invites Patrick in with the flick of his wrist. “She had run away from him, her cheek bruised from his back hand.”

“No!”

“I’m afraid so. He was a piece of work after Fin and Caelan’s letter came in.” Both men settles down in opposite chairs. “I had thought about not showing up to my assignment, but it was mandatory.” Flipping through his opened journal, he pulls out the faded picture from underneath a muddy envelope. “I’m afraid it’s not the best,” he hands it to Patrick. “It’s of all four of us at a dance hall before they were to be shipped out.”

“You didn’t ship out with them?”

“I was still seventeen. It wasn’t until right after our advancement onto the mainland did I turn eighteen and was sent to a unit.”

Patrick stares down at the black and white picture, the easygoing smiles are the first thing he notices, followed by a younger Shelagh with the biggest one of all. _My goodness, she looks so young_. “There were so many kids I had to patch up, especially towards the end. The death, the destruction, I couldn’t escape it, not even when I closed my eyes.” He glances up to find the same shadow that has fallen across his heart has ashened James’ features. "It was worse when I closed my eyes."

“Take it. She can keep it if she wants to.”

“We couldn’t.”

“She loves you very much.” Patrick, not expecting those words, glances up to find James looking at another picture. “When I first came to Poplar, I thought she was still with the nuns. I was going to try and convince her to run away with me.” He gives Patrick the picture.

It is just as faded as the first, but with more creases from wear and tear. They are alone in the picture, yet the one thing that captures Patrick’s eye is the way Shelagh is looking at James; with so much love as if there is not a care in the world.

With him, he can see her love brightly, yet it’s guarded, only shown during the times they are alone or when they are making love.

“Somehow, through the grace of everything that is holy, I was able to smuggle that picture in when I was a prisoner at Sachsenhausen.”

His one statement sucks all the life out of his lungs. “Sachsenhausen? That was the political prisoner camp, was it not?”

James shrugs his shoulders, “The commandant at Stalag thought I was spreading lies. Apparently, it didn’t take much to type cast someone as a political prisoner at the end of the war. I was listed on the rosters as ‘failure to thrive’.”

“That’s why Shelagh thought you had died.”

“She had left before I could reach her.” He holds out his hand to take the picture back. “Right after, I had my breakdown and had slipped down a very dark hole. My training as a doctor helped me to focus all of my anger, all of my frustration onto helping others.”

For the first time, Patrick sees the numbers etched into his skin, its dark numbers reminding him of a man he had met while at Northfield. His stories were worse than his nightmares. “And Shelagh?”

“Her love was the only thing that kept me alive in that camp.” He shoves the picture back into his journal and throws it on the coffee table. “She loves you and I see that, but it’s… it’s hard to come to terms that she will never be mine again.”

Patrick’s mind snaps into attention, his heart pounding against his chest like a gorilla trying to escape its confinement. “You still flirt with her.” Sympathy for his life story tugs at his heart, yet Patrick doesn’t see it as an excuse for his behavior towards his wife.

“If her brothers were here, they would have knocked me out.” Taking a deep breath, he exhales as he runs his fingers through his short hair. “You have my word that I will not flirt with her or make any moves that are untoward.”

“I will hold you to your word,” Patrick stands, as does James, and holds out his hand. “Thank you for the picture. Do you know if there are any archives with her family?”

“I can contact my sister and ask her to look. She still lives in Aberdeen with her family.”

“That would be much appreciated.” Patrick nods towards the door, “I can see myself out.”


	8. Chapter 8

** Early April 1944 – Bonfire Night **

The bonfire is far more fun than she would care to admit. Jamey would make fun of her while her brothers would not cease in their reign of teasing. She had sat next to Jamey but soon figured that it was the worse place to be. She wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, to wrap her arm around his and settle in his warmth, but she had to tell herself not to.

While her brothers, being the life of the party, were telling jokes and the Andersons and Robinsons played their instruments, Jamey brings her around to the back of the barn under the guise of showing her where the bathrooms are. His lips tumble onto hers the second they step into the shadows. “Jamey, we mustn’t, not with my brothers close by.”

“Seeing you like this, so full of joy,” he kisses her again, his warm body pressing against her own, “I’ve been holding myself back from kissing you all night.” 

Despite her words, she wraps her arms around his neck, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you too, but we must wait and go back before—”

“What the hell is this?” Caelan, who is the tallest out of the four of them, roughly pulls Jamey out of her embrace.

“Caelan, Fin, don’t!”

“We leave for basic, you promising us that you would take care of our sister and, instead, you decide to make your moves on her.” Caelan holds Jamey’s hands behind his back while Fin curls his fingers around his lapels. “You were supposed to protect her from chaps like yourself.”

Shelagh dives under Fin’s arm, placing herself between her bothers and the boy she is falling in love with. “Stop it! The both of you! I don’t need anyone to protect me, thank you very much.”

“Get away, Shelagh,” Caelan calls down to his sister, “we will take care of this on our own.”

Fin captures her hand and steers her off to the side, “Why? Why would you deceive us like this?”

“Because I love her.” Jamey lifts his chin in defiance, his eyes never once wavering from Fin or his hands struggling out of Caelan’s clutch.

Too stunned by his words to see past the tip of her nose, she nearly shrieks when Fin punches Jamey across the jaw.

“Welcome to the family, mate,” Fin grins as Caelan helps Jamey to stand on his two feet. “Mind you, keep our sister out of trouble and leave your Catholic prayers at the door, you’ll do well.”

“She could do better, though,” Caelan pipes up.

“With who? That Kevin Donald bloke? He’s a right pain in the ass and a pansy to boot.” Fin rolls his eyes, “I’m sure she can do better, but he will do just fine just as long as he follows those two easy rules.”

“ **She** is standing right next to you,” Shelagh murmurs as she wraps her arms around Jamey’s waist. “And I hope for your sake you didn’t break his jaw.”

“Or you’ll do what?” Both of her brothers laugh.

“Or the only thing you’ll be eating for the next week is cold porridge,” she slyly grins when both of them stops their cackling. “Now you both do something useful and go get a cloth with some ice in it.”

Grumbling as they leave, Shelagh rolls her eyes as she prods her fingers along his bruising jaw. “Are you alright?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t be better!”

“You boys are weird.”

“They gave me their blessings.”

“They sucker punched you!”

“It was all in good fun. When the time comes for boys to call on my sister, I will enjoy doing the same thing.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, “Do you really love me?”

His hand slips down and squeezes her fingers three times. “More than you’ll ever know.” He leans in and kisses her blushing cheek.

“Oy!” Her brothers come back with the item she had requested. “Just because we gave you our blessing doesn’t mean you can kiss her in front of us.”

“Cold porridge,” Shelagh sings over her shoulder.

“Duly noted,” Fin gives him the ice pack.

“Make it quick, though,” Caelan quips back, “we have to leave soon if we are to sneak you back in.”

“Go, Lee,” he kisses her cheek again, “I left the bag by the spot we were sitting at. Make sure you leave your dress by the creek so that I can wash it for you.”

Gently cupping his cheeks, she kisses him soundly on the lips.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

She ignores her brother’s loud pleas, giving him another chaste kiss on his bruised jaw. “Goodnight, Jamey.”

“Goodnight, Lee.”

With one last kiss, she follows her brothers out.

 

* * *

 

“Oh!” Shelagh opens the door to the supply closet, only for it to be blocked by someone. “I’m so sor—”

“It’s no worry, Nurse Turner,” Jamey opens the door wider, an open box of needles sitting dangerously on the edge of the shelf.

While the use of her title shocks her, she recovers rather quickly, “Are you in need of needles? We have some in the autoclave.”

“No, no,” he closes the box and shoves it back where it belongs. “I had accidentally broken one and I wanted to replace it.”

“Anything here is at your disposal, Doctor Campbell.” She presses her lips into a thin line before letting go of the door and squeezing past him. “I could have sworn I was just in here for another case of oxycodone for pain relief.”

“Really?”

She pulls the box from the shelf, “And what’s even more strange is that we had ordered a full box two weeks ago. This should last far more than that.” Her brow dips in confusion at the paradox. “I had talked to Patrick about it, however we have had more patients who has needed it in here.”

“According to Patrick more women are choosing to have their birth here at the maternity home.”

“Still, I wonder if someone is breaking into here.” She settles next to him against the shelf. “We should be more vigilant as to making sure that this door remains locked as well as keeping all those who are not medical personnel away from this area of the surgery.”

He gives her a mock salute, “Aye, Aye, boss!”

Though he was meant to be funny, she wrinkles her nose at his name, “I think I prefer ‘Lee’ over ‘boss’ any day of the week.” 

Jamey’s resounding laugh bounces off of the close quarters, “Thank god for small miracles!”

Shelagh glances up, the brightness of his chocolatey brown eyes catching her in its mesmerizing hold. Within the two weeks since their small talk in his office about his flirting, he has kept up on his word to back off. With that, her relationship with Patrick had cooled, his trust in her back to its normal state before Jamey had come to shake things up.

However, it’s now that she finds that she misses Jamey’s sharp tongue, the rogue way he would run his fingers through his hair. Dropping her eyes, she stares at the package in her hands, unsure of the melancholy that has taken root in her throat. It is then that she sees it, his sleeves rolled up, surely the heat getting to anyone. Her heart drops to the pit of her belly. Setting the box on the shelf behind her, she reaches out with timid fingers, she touches the markings upon his skin.

**192346**

“I call the place Camp Hell.” She glances up to see him staring down at her, his features shadowed by memories. “I was only there for a few months but by then the Nazis became desperate.”

“I’m sorry.”

He covers the top of her hand with his palm, “Don’t be. You didn’t put me there.”

“But you suffered,” thoughts of Patrick and his breakdown weighs heavily on her shoulders, “there were many that had suffered.”

“But there are a lot who had survived,” his thumb runs along her knuckles, eliciting a fluttering wave in her belly.

“But I’m sorry it happened to you. Seeing you alive, there’s this spark that has died out in your eyes since the last time I saw you.” She drops her gaze back onto their clasped hands, his fingers squeezing her three times.

“The same can be said for you as well, however, I think that has more to do with age and experience. We are no longer teenagers sneaking out to go to a dance. That loss of spark just shows that we have lived full lives.”

The fluttering stops by the mountainous weight of his words. “Have you moved on?”

He takes his time to answer her loaded question. “In some aspects I have, whereas, in others, I haven’t.”

She looks back at him, surprised at how close they had become. His lips are so close to her own that she can feel the warmth of his breath caressing her skin. For a tiny second, she wonders what it would be like to kiss him again, to feel that rush of naive brightness that had dulled the moment she left Aberdeen.

The feel of his fingers caressing her cheek wrenches her from her thoughts. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment I saw you.” He runs his thumb along her bottom lip before pulling away from her, “I have to go.” With one last look, he opens the door and leaves Shelagh in the silence of her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

“Hello dearest,” Shelagh sheds her hat, sweat starting to drip down the small of her back, “it has become rather hot out there.”

“Yes, instead of a mince pie, I had settled for a 99 for lunch,” he glances over his shoulder from his perch on the sofa, “and I know you will get mad at me for confessing that I buy mince pies, but the 99 was far more refreshing.”

With her time spent with Jamey in the supply closet still pressing against her throat, she decides to forgo her normal harsh talk about the demerits of eating unhealthy and, instead, settles down next to him. She had already told herself that she was going to tell him what had happened between her and Jamey, however, other words flew out from between her lips when she saw the framed picture of her brothers. “You did it!”

“Yes,” He sheepishly looks at her, “I had meant to do it a while ago, but with our busy schedules, I am just now getting round to it.”

“It’s a nice frame.”

“The man at the photo shop had told me that it is sturdier than the other frames,” his arm slides along the back of the sofa, bringing her closer towards his body. “I think it will pair very nicely next to Marianne.”

The way he speaks of her name, love still etched in his voice, she wonders about their relationship. Quietly she asks, “When did you fall in love with her?”

“Marianne?” She nods in affirmation. “During my residency. I had known her a far back as grammar school, but I didn’t think about her like that. We both ran in different circles then, that is until she had come to help with rolling bandages and such. We had gone out a few times as a big group but I didn’t realize that I had feelings for her until she began to date one of my good friends.”

“Did you say anything to her?”

Patrick’s eyes light up as laughter falls out from between his lips, “Are you kidding me? I did what any young, foolish boy in love did; I dated every available nurse while at the same time picking on her.”

“Patrick! You didn’t!” To see him young, that spark of life dazzling in his youthful eyes, jealousy strums along her heart.

“One night, we got into this big fight which ended up with me telling her exactly how I felt,” he pulls her closer, kissing her forehead. “We began dating after that. I finished my residency and began practicing with my father.” A bubble of laughter erupts again. “It seemed as if each week we were always fighting about something new.”

“Like what?”

“Stupid things really,” his brow dips, his mind no doubt trying to remember those memories so long ago, “things that we would forget just before the next big row.” He looks to her, his eyebrows wiggling in mirth, “Our makeups were just as passionate as our breakups.”

“Patrick Turner, you did not!” Despite her playful voice, jealousy coils along her belly at how youthful his memories make his look. For the first time, in a long time, she wishes that she had knew him when he was younger, yet she quickly shuffles it away. With him being sixteen years older than her, she would have still been a child if she were to have met him in his residency.

“I assure you, I didn’t instigate them,” a small, coy smile spreads along his lips, “well, not all the time.” The lines etched along his face become less stressed, his dimples making her heart flutter once again. “Tell me about you and James.”

“Are you sure you won’t get jealous?”

“No," he screeches, "but I had just told you about how wild Marianne and I were in our youths. I want to know about you.”

Her lips thin into a fine line. While she is glad that he is not as jealous as he was when Jamey first came to Poplar, she has to admit – only to herself, of course – that she now craves the possessiveness of his touch. “It came unexpected for me. We were friends since the moment I could play outside; me, Jamey, Caelan and Fin. Then they went off to training and, supposedly, Jamey was to keep other boys away from me.”

“Wow, no wonder your brothers used him for target practice.”

The night of the bonfire has her cheeks flushing bright pink, “Nearly broke his jaw the night they found us kissing behind the barn.”

“Hmm,” he nuzzles his nose against her cheek, his other arm wrapping around her waist, “I would love to take you behind a barn one of these days.”

“I’m sure you would, dearest,” she revels in the strength of his arms, “however, there are no barns within the Poplar city limits.”

“Party pooper.”

She rolls her eyes and continues on with her story, “One night, he had come to my window after my father went to sleep and had taken me to the dance hall. Originally he had wanted to take… take — oh, what’s her name — Caroline Something. Anyways, he had wanted to take her, but her was painfully shy back then.”

“You know,” he leans back to look at her properly, “this might be the many years I have known you as Sister Bernadette, however, you don’t seem the type to sneak out and go to dances on a whim.”

“No, I wasn’t, but I felt more safe with Jamey than with anyone else. We had been friends for the longest time, everything just, I don’t know, fell into place.” She captures her bottom lip between her teeth, “Just before that dance, I had told him that I was thinking of joining the religious order. I guess it was his way of encouraging me to live my life before such a big commitment.”

“Hmm,” his arms tighten around her body, “obviously, you two kept things more on the platonic side than Marianne and I had.”

“The night my father burned our family pictures, I had run to him. I was in pain, the shock of losing both of my brothers was difficult, then add on top of it, my father’s own way of dealing with grief,” she closes her eyes, the feel of father’s imprint still pressing against her cheek, “he was the only person I wanted to see. He had told me that night that he was to ship off, to join a unit already on the mainland.” She fiddles with a button from his shirt, not having the courage to look at him when whispering a confession she had told no one, “I wanted him to make love to me that night, but he wanted to wait.”

Silence shivers between them, both of their memories taking too much space in their respective minds. “Marianne had become pregnant right before I was to ship off to field training. The night before I had to leave, she miscarried. After everything was said and done, I still asked her to marry me.” His palm converges onto her fidgeting fingers, “She told me that she would not marry me until I was back home.” After a moment, he adds, “We told no one about the baby or the marriage proposal. She had told me that she dated a few men while I was away, but nothing came about it until I came home.”

Tears sting her eyes, one escaping down her cheek, “I held off on signing my novitiate papers after Jamey went off to war. I wanted to wait until he got back, but, he never did.”

“What about them,” he holds up the frame, “your brothers?”

For a moment, she thinks back to the rare times she had spoken about her brothers to him, surprised to remember that she never told him where they had perished. “Both died during the landing into Normandy. Fin died on Gold Beach while Caelan’s cruiser never made it to land. It had taken the war office numerous weeks to send out all the letters of the confirmed dead. We had high hopes that they had made it when we didn’t hear from anyone.”

“Two-thirds of my graduating class died during the war.”

Mustering her courage once again, she lifts her chin, the ashen look of painful memories replaying like a bad record along his dark eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing this up, Patrick.”

“I’m…,” he closes his eyes and shakes his head, “I’m sorry for slipping away from you just now.”

She captures his cheek with her palm, she quietly confesses, “Ever since your breakdown, I’ve been hesitant to broach the subject. You feeling the effects of the war far more harshly than I, I didn’t know how to talk about it without mentioning the war in some way.”

“Shelagh,” he turns fully to her, kissing her forehead, his love being felt in the warmth of his embrace, “don’t ever feel that way with me. I never want you to use my shortcomings as an excuse for you not to talk to me.”

“Your breakdown is not a shortcoming,” she passionately exclaims, the dip of his ashamed brow making her heart ache. “Your breakdown is a real, living, breathing thing. I love you too much to be the cause of such sorrow.”

“Then let’s keep this conversation open. We both have suffered from the war, James especially, but we should not hide it anymore as if it is some dirty little secret. It needs to be let out, otherwise, it will fester and explode.” He draws both of her hands into his lap, “Promise me. Promise that we will talk about it.”

She is still hesitant, never wanting to purposely hurt the man she loves the most, but his omen as to the effects of keeping such things closed strikes fear in her heart. Their relationship was born and cultivated from silence, and even after all this time, the impact is still being felt. “I promise.” She melts into his welcoming embrace, the gentle thump of his heart soothing the millions of thoughts running through her mind. “When do we have to pick up the kids,” she glances up at the clock, the small hand just reaching five.

“Not until six o’clock and Tim has his band rehearsals until then too.”

Shelagh stands from the couch, pulling at Patrick’s hand to stand next to her, “Come, let’s relax before the children come home.”

“And what about dinner and the mess I might have made when I fixed myself the corned beef from last night?”

The innocence playing along his features has her laughing out loud, “You know, Teddy makes the same face when he gets into something he knows he shouldn’t.” She tugs him towards the stairs and sighs, “We will deal with that when the time comes.”

“Yes dear,” his voice coyly calls from behind her. “And the hour until then?”

“Will be time well spent scrubbing the afternoon’s heavy conversation,” she demurely climbs the stairs towards their room, his hands cupping her hips in response.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit of violence and drug use in this chapter.

“Whew! That was rather a close one,” James laments as he stretches his arms back, the glowing light from the full moon hiding itself from behind the thick clouds.

“It could have been a lot worse if I had decided not to call for a doctor.” Shelagh quips as she slips out from behind him. “I had told that family time and time again that she should have delivered at the maternity home, but they refused.” She looks to him and gives him a small smile, “You did wonderfully. That was a technique I have never seen before.”

“It has just come out. Patrick and I were reading about it when the call came in.” He gives her a rather saucy grin, “He told me to tell you that tonight’s the night that he’s going to allow Teddy to play surgeon with your kitchen knives and that he had just bought make up for Angela to try on.”

“Jamey!” Shelagh elbows him in the gut, “What a wretched thing to say.”

“But it made you laugh.” She tries to give him a stern look, but after a few seconds, they both dissolve into giggles. “But for real, Patrick told me to tell you that he will make sure the kids are fed and tucked in.”

“While him and Timothy indulge in fish and chips, I assure you,” Shelagh swings her bag from one side to the other as they walk back to her bicycle.

“I remember when a big group of us skipped school for the day. While everyone else went to the shore, we took the train into Edinburgh to eat fish and chips and ice cream all day.”

She hums in agreement, “Yes, that was rather a wonderful day.”

“Strolling down the streets, holding your hand, gorging ourselves on sweets and fried foods.”

“Careful, Jamey,” Shelagh smirks as she places her bag in the basket on the back of her bicycle, “you’re drooling.”

“I can’t help it. I haven’t had a good fish and chips since that day and, believe me, I have tried everywhere.” He looks down the deserted street and adds under his breath, “However, your comment is received.”

“Good,” she gives him a bright smile, “I have to pop into the surgery.”

“Why? Your home is not too far from here.”

“There are a few things I have to do, including cleaning all of the equipment,” she straddles her bicycle.

“Do be careful, the forecast has called for heavy rains tonight.”

She gives him a small smile as she kicks back her pedal, “I will. Have a wonderful evening, Doctor Campbell.” Casting off, she peddles down the dark alley onward towards the surgery center.

 

* * *

 

** June 1944 **

She runs as fast as the lightening crackling across the dark sky. The grass, which will soon be cut, slicing along her ankles as the wind dries the tears on her cheeks.

The air she breaths in is muggy, thunder rumbling far too close and cross for it to be a simple summer shower.

Just as she sees the tiny light in the horizon, the rain starts to fall. First as sparse droplets, gradually becoming heavier as she nears the house. Slowing her run when she sees movement on the darkened porch, she nearly shrieks when a voice calls out, “Lee? Is that you?”

Feeling her body relax despite the cold rain pounding against her bare skin, she runs up to him and throws her arms around his neck. Finally, within the safety and warmth of his arms, she crumbles until she can no longer hold herself up.

“Come on,” he lifts her up and takes her into the barn. Laying her down on the pile of hay, he disappears into the darkness only to come back quickly with a lit lantern and a few blankets. “Lee? What the hell?”

Trying to hide from the light, she finds that she is not quick enough to cover her bruised face. “Father, he… he’s… it’s been a long night.”

“Your father did this to you?”

“We buried Fin and Caelan today! When we got home, he took to the bottle rather hard.”

Jamey covers her legs with one of the blankets and uses the other to wrap around her shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”

“I had left him alone to make dinner. When I came in to give him his plate, he was hunched over the fireplace.” She bites the bottom of her lip, her tears that she is desperately trying to hold back is gliding down her cheeks. “He was burning all of the photographs of our family. When I tried to stop him, that’s when he… when he…”

“When he clobbered you,” Jamey stands and turns towards the door. “I should have gone back with you. Or snuck you out.”

“He would have noticed that I wasn’t there.”

“But I could have at least protected you.”

She lifts her hand up and captures his fingers, “You’re here now.”

He squeezes her hand three times, “Shelagh...”

Her stomach lurches, “In all the years I have known you, you have never called me Shelagh.”

The way he looks down at her, she knows that he’s been called for the National Service. With both the British and the Americans on the mainland – at the heavy cost of losing both her brothers and ten other young men from her school – she knows that in order to win the war, the Allies need to continue pushing towards Germany.

_But at what cost?_ “When are you leaving?”

“I am to report in two days.” He bends down on his knees, taking both of her hands in his lap. “I had meant to tell you earlier, but with your brothers, I could never find the right time.” He kisses both of her knuckles, “I’m sorry.”

She scrambles to her knees, the very thought of losing him the way she lost her brothers sends her mind into dizzying circles, the pounding of her heart making it hard to breath. “I don’t want you to go.” She wraps her arms around his neck in a tight grip.

“I know, my darling girl, but if I don’t then Fin and Caelan’s death will be in vein.” He settles his chin on the top of her head, “I’ve even thought about not going, the war be damned.”

She sobs into his shirt, not even caring anymore to hold in her emotions. “We can’t let Hitler win. We just can’t, not with all that we have loss, but… what if… what if I lose you?” She leans out of his embrace and captures both of his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be able to live, not without you.” She kisses his lips. “I love you.”

He sweeps his thumb across her bottom lip, “I am so in love with you. When I come back, the first thing I’m going to do is to marry you.”

“Yes,” she gives him a small smile, her stomach flipping over itself.

“I’m not promising anything, but if I do come back, I will most likely have lasting scars or repercussions.”

“I don’t care,” she snuggles against his chest and nips along his jaw. “Just as long as we have each other, I will be the happiest woman in the world.”

Slipping off his school ring from his pinky finger, he murmurs, “Wear this until I can buy you a proper ring.”

She unfurls her fingers from his shirt collar and holds it out for him to place it on her ring finger. “You can make a ring from a blade of grass, just as long as I have you.”

“Don’t be such a nun,” he quips, his kisses becoming passionate as she tips her head to the side, “I’m going to… buy you… the most… beautiful ring.”

She returns the fevered kisses, her body humming as she presses against his chest. Her eyes slip shut, the myriad of emotions coursing though her making her see stars in her vision.

In an effort to keep her from falling, his hand brushes along her breast, eliciting her body to shiver as her moan reverberates off of the wooden walls. He abruptly stops and leans out of their embrace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you there, it felt as if you needed me to hold you up.”

His eyes, so wide, so genuine, filled with so much love, emboldens her response. With no words, she starts from the top of her blouse and begins to unbutton her buttons.

He stops her movement with his palms, “We can wait.”

She lifts his hand and gently kisses his middle knuckle before resuming her earlier task. Peeling off the wet cotton and throwing it off to the side, she reaches behind her back and unclips her bra.

She can feel his eyes staring at her face, yet, she shyly glances down at his barrel of a chest. Capturing both of his hands, she presses his warm palms against the sharp peaks of her breasts. “I love you.” And before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, she pulls him down on top of the hay.

 

* * *

 

** March 1945 **

“Erwachen!” The loud, obnoxious voice James has come to hate pulls him from his dream.

“Come along, old friend,” Ernst, the older doctor James had met on the train ride into ‘Camp Hell’ ribs him in the shoulder. “Quickly, before we are late.”

Rubbing the heel of his hand against his eyes, James stands from his wooden bunk and makes his way out into the courtyard. Some of the men have already made it close to the food line, although no one makes a move to touch a bowl. The first morning here, he remembers seeing a burly Russian chap reaching for the ladle. He was instantly shot through the head. His body remained there, a warning to all prisoner as to what will happen if you attempt to break the rules.

“Spring is among us, old friend,” Ernst gives James a rare smile. “My son celebrates his birthday in the springtime.”

James buries his hands in his pockets, “When is his birthday?”

“The nineteenth of April.”

“Übernimm deine position,” the guards come towards their group, their rifles held tightly against their chest. _Assume the position._

Squatting down, all the prisoners hold out their arms in their forced salute as the Commandant comes out to do his inspection. It is always the same, he would walk along the perimeter and point to a few men. The guards in turn would pull them up and force them to walk along the neutral zone. Fighting would always ensue, mainly between Germans and Russians. Unfortunately, though, the men with the guns always wins. Shots ring out against the clear March sky, the bodies falling to the ground as if they were a rag doll.

After such displays of prowess, guards start to call out names from their rosters. Once all names are called and accounted for, they are given the signal to stand. The line for their food crowds around the tables. No one wanting to be last, for when they run out of food, the ones who didn’t get food will have to go without until the next morning.

The mood is quite somber as their breakfast, lunch, and dinner is being devoured. Gathering into their groups, both James and Ernst make their way towards the medical facility.

Thankfully, when they first came, a doctor recognized Ernst and immediately had him assigned to work as his assistant. With Ernst’s help, he was also able to secure a position for James as clean up.

Despite the amount of blood and bodies he has had to clean off of the floor on a daily basis, James is thankful for the position. He was originally assigned to work in the factory in the morning and run forty kilometers to test out the boots in the afternoon.

Now, he works inside the heated building all day. Plus, if he’s lucky, he is able to get scraps of food from the trash to take back to the barracks.

“Looks as if we are getting more people.”

James looks up to see the train cars rolling to a stop. His heart settles into the pit of his stomach. _More men destined to become a body I have to carry out._ “Has your friend told you anything else?”

Both men keep their heads down, never wanting to show that they are talking to each other, the barrage of bullets from the new men trying to escape covering their conversation. “He said that the Allies are closing in. That’s how we were able to get our positions in the lab, they have pulled all able-bodied men to the front.”

“Bloody hell.” Thoughts of Lee invades his mind. _I actually might see her again. I’m going to marry her, if it’s the last thing I will do._

“Look sharp.”

A group of guards comes walking towards them. “Wohin gehst du?” _Where are you going?_

Ernst is the one who speaks up, advising him when they first came here to never speak when they are addressed together. “Zu unserem posten im medizinischen labor.” _To our post in the medical laboratory._

“Sie werden viele schweine zum reinigen haben,” and with a hearty laugh mixed with some pig noises, the guards allow them to pass. _You will have a lot of pigs to clean._

Continuing on their way towards the medical lab, Ernst quietly murmurs, “If I had the choice to help those men in the resistance or to help those guards, I would have chosen the resistance in a second.”

Stepping up to the door, James opens it and both men walk through.

 

* * *

 

James slides out the needle, the sharp, thin metal not as piercing as when it breaks the skin.

He hadn’t had this particular cocktail since that one summer during medical school and he curses himself for ever stopping in the first place. _It’s not as pure as the first batch, but it will do just as well._ While he had been experimenting with mixing his own cocktail, thanks to some of the drugs he had taken from the surgery center next door to him, so far it had never turned out the same as the cocktail Ernst had given him in the end of his stay at Camp Hell.

The rain, which had started to come down when he walked into his flat, violently beats against the window. With the candlelight flickering along the walls, James is instantly taken back to his family’s barn not too long ago – the same rain and candlelight playing its hypnotic beat behind him as he tastes her skin.

She had opened herself up to him, her body glowing in the light of the candle, her golden hair pillowing around her beautiful face. Yet, he was only able to manage her breasts. He had felt himself reach his climax, the feel of her nipples against the tip of his tongue becoming too much for his body to handle.

“Fuck!”

Abruptly standing from the sofa, he makes his way to the bevy of drugs he keeps in the kitchen. Now he just wants to forget. Forget her, forget the war, forget everything.

Yet, when he looks through his stash, he notices that his vials of morphine are empty. Panic begins to set in at the idea of not having it on hand before he began mixing his cocktail. Glancing over his shoulder, he runs his hand through his hair and promises to be in and out of the surgery center within five minutes max. _I have_ , he reasons to himself, _done it before, however, it was while I was sober._

Looking back outside at the unforgiving rain that pelts against the window, he knows that he must have the morphine in order to make it through the night. _Just a bit to tide me over._

Gathering his coat, he slips out into the dead of the night, the heavy storm causing all living creatures to find warmth and comfort within the safety of their homes. Just as he makes it to the side door, he lifts his chin up towards the heavens, praying for the lightening to strike him down. However, as the rain melts into his skin and his prayer goes unanswered, heat sizzles back into ambivalence as he lets himself in.

Tip toeing along the well-lit hallway, he makes it to the drug closet without any disturbance other than the decisive click of the door closing. Flicking on the light, he immediately makes his way towards the back to where the morphine is kept. Yet, instead of seeing the normal box where the vials are stored, he sees a locked box now standing in his way.

His heart begins to race. _Why had no one told me of this? Surely as a doctor, I need access to such medicines._ He examines the lock by flipping it up and down. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. _How the hell will I be able to get the morphine?_

“James?”

Instant rage rushes through his veins, far more potent than the cocktail he had injected only a few minutes ago. “Lee, what are you still doing here?” He refuses to turn to her, to have her look at how far he has fallen.

“I can ask you the same thing,” she smartly quips back.

Clenching his fist, he swallows down his shame at being caught. _I can still salvage this._ “I was checking to see if the lock was properly installed.”

“You are the one taking from our supplies, aren’t you?” The disappointment in her voice drives a blade deep inside his chest. “Why would you do this?”

“I was not supposed to see you tonight.” He hangs his head, “I was not supposed to see anyone tonight.”

“Jamey…,” the warmth of her palm sweeps through his wet clothes.

“Don’t!” He steps past her and notices that the door to the supply closet is wide open. “I don’t want your fucking pity.” Pure anger sizzles underneath his skin, the rawness of her voice still pounding against his ears. “I have seen things and done things that would make you lose your lunch in a heartbeat.” The tips of his fingers play a nonsensical beat against the edge of his thumb, a vein effort to keep himself from tearing her to shreds. “I’m going to leave. I would appreciate it if you waited to tell Patrick until tomorrow.”

“Jamey, look at me.”

Adrenaline sears through his veins, his heart pounding against his throat, her gentle voice setting his teeth on edge. “That would not be advisable,” he somehow murmurs between his quivering lips.

“Jamey, please,” her soothing voice calms the roaring waves crashing against his eardrums, “You don’t need drugs to escape your memories.”

“I don’t take the drugs to escape my memories of the war,” he turns to face her, “I take them to escape you.” He holds his breath, momentarily captivated by her beauty in the lowlight.

“Jamey,” she sighs, her fingers reaching out to him, her lips oh-so-deliciously close to his, parting, begging him to meet.

And with his subconscious tucked away and muted into a small dark corner of his soul, he wraps his hand around the back of her neck and crashes his lips onto hers. His blood now flowing to all the parts of his body, he knows that, without a doubt, he will not fail her tonight like how he did all those years ago in that barn.

Her lips are soft, pliant as he dominates her mouth. He can feel the resistance of her palms against his chest, but he ignores it and tightens his grip around her waist. _She wants this, wants me!_

“Jamey, please,” she pushes him away with the heel of her hand on his chest, “we shouldn’t be doing this.” She tries to step away from him, but he doesn’t allow it, instead pushing her against the wall so that she has nowhere to go.

A blinding rage charges up his spine. _She started this and she will damn well finish it._

“Jamey, let me go,” her body squirms for freedom from his grip, catapulting his anger higher and higher.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he hisses, the feel of her breasts pressing against his chest making him dizzy with desire and longing, the cocktail in his system working its magic. “Ever since that night in the barn, seeing you wanting me, allowing me to touch your body,” his fingers begin to peel apart her buttons, “That night has been my only salvation during my time in the work camps.” He tugs apart the rest of her uniform top, desire searing its delicious path through his veins at the sight of her breasts captured in her clinging bra.

“Jamey, stop!” She tries to pull away from him, yet he doesn’t allow it, his will to strong to combat his desire. _She gave me her permission. She will be mine!_ “James! You need to stop.” She swats away his hands that have converged onto her breasts, her body twisting its way out from his confinement, but he grabs her wrists and slams them against the wall.

Her body and its warmth are his invitation, the memory of their night in the barn wildly thumping against his chest. “You are mine, Shelagh.” The need to bury himself so deep into her body claws at his muscles, her meager attempts to curb his appetite, her shouting pleas and flailing limbs slowly beginning to infuriate him. “I should have made love to you then, but I was scared.”

“James!” Her attempts to run away from him are cut short when he presses the palm of his hand against her mouth.

“Shut up!” He pushes the evidence of his desire against the warmth of her body. “Your words tell me no, but your body begs for me to make love to you.” The tips of his fingers begin to pull the hem of her dress up.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF MY WIFE!”

Pulling away from the blessed love of her body, pure fury makes his blood boil from the inside out. “She was mine long before she became your wife! Why don’t you go fuck—”

Whatever he was going to say, abruptly stops when Patrick punches James in the jaw.

Barely feeling the hit, James’ muscles tense as he punches Patrick back. Again. And again. And again. His rage blinding him and the consciousness of his actions.

“Stop this!” Shelagh’s stern voice breaks through the roaring train whistle rushing through his ear. She wraps her arms around his wrist to keep him from pounding a hole into her husband’s head. “You are going to hurt him.”

James twirls around and slaps Shelagh across her cheek.

She instantly falls to the ground.

Before he has a chance to raise his hand to strike her again, his whole world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to be done with this story by Christmas, but fate in the form of sick child and husband had taken me away, not to mention the holidays in general is a crazy time. My new timeline is to be finished with this story by New Year's!
> 
> Thank you again for all of the kindness!! :)


	10. Chapter 10

“Jamey is in bed, resting.” Shelagh comes into the office and shuts the door. “Sister Julienne is readying a bag of fluids for him.” She turns to see Patrick wincing as the alcohol-soaked gauze cleans the blood from his knuckles. “Let me help, please.”

“I’m almost finished,” he pulls further away from her touch.

She bites down on her bruised lip, the silence between then deafening as if it is a real, live thing, “We have to talk about what happened.”

“What’s there to talk about,” he bites back. “I walked in to see my wife being assaulted by an old beau who claims to still be in love with you.” Taking a deep breath, he returns his attention back to his knuckles.

“He was on some sort of cocktail of drugs,” she desperately exclaims. “He was not in his right mind.”

“And now you are trying to make excuses for him.” Throwing all of the medical instruments down, he abruptly stands and paces the length behind his desk. “He would have raped you had I not showed up,” his voice exploding out from him. “Do you understand that?” He takes a deep steady breath to help calm himself, “Something else happened tonight, before I had walked in.”

She doesn’t dare look at him, the truth of her actions, though not planned or thought out, will still hurt him and leave their marriage scarred.

“Tell me,” he mutters under his breath. “Something changed between the both of you.” She remains silent, which in turn begins to infuriate him. “Did you kiss? Flirt with him? Make a pass? Tell me, damn it!”

With her actions from the night replaying over and over in her head, she doesn’t even have to courage to look at him when she quietly confesses, “I kissed him.”

The tick from the clock sounds loudly.

The air is stifling, heavy with anger that is unresolved.

“Why?” His voice, which has the right to hold malice, is soft and vulnerable; the very essence of what heartbreak would sound like.

She has no answer for him. She did what she did without any thought to it – and she knows that that is the worse betrayal anyone could do. “I… I don’t—”

“Don’t you dare!” Fury flashes in his normally gentle, hazel eyes. “You are not a stupid person. You are smart and thoughtful in your decisions. You wouldn’t have done something without logic to back it up.” He crosses his arms against his chest, wincing as his bruised knuckles brushes along the fabric. “Why? Why did you kiss him?”

_He’s right_ , she swallows past the guilt that has taken up residence in her throat.

He abruptly steps around his desk, “Had this happened before?”

“No.” She takes a timid step back, her eyes widening in fear, the bruise marring her cheek stinging against her cheekbone. “There is no reason as to why I kissed him back.” She folds her arms across her belly. “For one moment, one stupid moment, I was not thinking.”

“I heard some of the things he had said.” The lines that frames his face, the same ones she fell in love with so many years ago, disappears into worry and distrust. “Are you in love with him?”

She opens her mouth, the answer on the tip of her tongue, yet she snaps her lips closed. It would be so easy to lie, to save her marriage and her family the heartbreak that is nearly bursting at the seams, however, she never wants to lie to him. “At one point, I did.”

“And now?”

Her answer tastes bitter on her tongue, resolute in their meaning, yet, scared that they will never be believed again. “I am and will always be in love with you.”

“Then why did you kiss him, Shelagh,” he yells at her, throwing his hands in the air out of frustration.

Digging deep down inside, she places herself back in that room during the two times she had felt the anticipation between their lips. “At one point in my life, I was in love with him and I was certain that I would marry him. Since he has returned back into my life, we have been teetering along this line, one that I had given into so long ago.” Tears welding in her eyes, she has neither the choice or the strength to hold them back. “We had been so close and… and I wanted to know if I felt the same as I did in that barn.”

He swallows hard, even in the prismatic, low light of her tears, she can see him losing all the color from his face. “And if he had not turned violent, would you have kept kissing him?”

“Yes,” is the first answer that comes to mind, her complete honesty sucking the life out of the small office. “However, I knew it felt different, something I could never go back to.” She knows that her answer doesn’t sooth his qualms just yet, but for her, they are the truth. “I love you, Patrick, with every beat of my heart and when I said that I see no one else in my future other than you by my side, I still believe in that wholeheartedly.”

His eyes melt, his anguish can be felt in the way he takes in a ragged breath. “I love you too, but god forgive me, I don’t trust you,” he tilts his chin towards the door, “not while he is still around.”

“I understand.” Shelagh hangs her head, pulling her borrowed sweater around her stomach.

“Come here,” he opens his arms up, the sting of loneliness crackling along his words. Falling into them, she wraps her hands around his waist, the feel of his heart thumping against her cheek soothes her tears. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had shown up a few minutes later.”

“I know you will find this as an excuse, but he was never this violent before.” She buries her cheek further against his chest. “He had mentioned his time in the work camp. I think that is where he became addicted.”

“I believe you.” He keeps her close to him, “At Sachsenhausen, they were rumored to experiment with certain drugs to help keep the German army alert on the field and in the air.”

“How…,” her words stick like glue against her throat, “how horrible.”

“Not as horrible as the torture he must have endured, especially at the end.” She can feel him taking a deep, shuttering breath, “The Nazis made all the prisoners march. The moment one fell to the ground, he was instantly shot and killed.” He holds her closer. “There was a Dutch survivor at Northfield the same time I was there after the war. The way of life in that camp was absolutely abominable. His nightmares…”

Her tears, once again falling freely down her cheeks, are caught by Patrick’s lapels. “And the trigger was me.” Her words come out as a hushed whisper, not wanting it to be true, but knowing without a doubt that it is. 

“There are many reasons that can contribute to one’s own breakdown, but instead of getting help, he used his drug of choice as a way to cope.” He sighs, his arms loosening their hold around her, “I had my suspensions that someone from here was taking the drugs, but I had assumed it was for monetary gains rather than for self-indulgence.”

“And shall I call Northfield tomorrow to inquire if they have a bed available?”

“I have already called and they are willing to take him by tomorrow, health pending of course.” His reply surprises her. “I could tell in his eyes that his violent reaction was synthetically made.”

She should have known that he would have healed first before he was willing to talk about what had happened. “Thank you, Patrick.”

Giving her arms a gentle squeeze, he steps out from between her and his desk, “I have to see to the patients. I’ll see to it that Nurse Crane can drop you off at home so that you can get some sleep.” Not allowing her time to reply, he swiftly exits out of the office.

 

* * *

 

** April 1945 **

“Ernst, what is this stuff your giving me?” For seven days straight, the Nazis have been keeping the prisoners moving, marching to god-knows-where.

Slipping the needle out, Ernst buries it back into his pocket. “The drugs we have been experimenting with in the lab. I had taken a few vials before we were order to march.”

One of the older men from his barracks abruptly stops and falls to the ground. Finding the strength within his tired body, Jamey pulls him up and keeps the line moving without any of the guards noticing. After the first night, a lot of the elderly men had fallen to the ground from exhaustion. Without a word, a guard had come up to them and shot them in the head, leaving their blessed bodies to rot in a gutter as they continued to march.

“Give some to yourself,” Jamey murmurs under his breath.

“I only have enough for one man.” His eyes travel to the bodies already littering the side of the road, “I have lived my life to the fullest. My only regret was not choosing a side when the time came.”

“But your family, your children,” the man in his arms becoming heavier and heavier to hold.

“When this war is over, my children will see me as a coward, a man who chose to be ignorant in all of the death and destruction that took place around him.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the last two vials along with a needle. “Take it. You are meant to survive. You are meant to live out the rest of your life with the woman you dream about.” He stuffs the drugs into the same pocket that holds the picture of him and Lee at the dance.

“Ernst?” His friend takes the weight of the exhausted man from his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I have a right to look at death with my eyes wide open.”

“No!” The drug starts to rush through his veins, his strength becoming ten folds of what he thought possible. “We will both see the end of this together.”

Pulling the other man down with him, Ernst looks to Jamey, his eyes steely with resolve, “Live well, my friend.” Staring at the guard holding up his rifle, he doesn’t blink as the bullet rips through his skull.

“No!” He tries to rush to his friend, yet the guard buries the rifle in his chest.

“Geh weiter,” the guard pushes him back. _Keep walking._

With one last look at his friend, Jamey turns back into line and continues on his path towards certain death.

 

* * *

 

A groan, crass and in pain, arouses from the bed next to Patrick. Folding his paper down, he goes to work checking all vitals before making sure all the fluids are in proper working fashion. The numbers etched into his skin makes him shutter, however, the memory of the night before steels his nerves.

“What happened?” James grips his head, both heels digging into his eyes. He glances up at Patrick, no doubt seeing the bruising along his face. “More importantly, what happened to you?”

Pulling his checklist from the side of the bed. “What is your name?”

“Come on, Patrick, I don’t need the twenty questions, just tell me what happened.”

Anger slices through his veins, yet, he holds it back. “You tell me what you remembered from last night.” Just as James opens his mouth, Patrick quickly adds, “Keep in mind that I have your blood work coming in at any minute.”

“I remember the both of us reading an article in the Lancet when we received the call from Nurse Turner as to the difficult birth. I went to help since I was on call for the early evening, while you decided to go home. Things went fine from there on out.”

“What happened when you got home?”

“I ate dinner.”

“And the drugs you had taken? Was that before or after your dinner?”

Shame colors James’ cheeks a bright red, however Patrick does not relent in his stare. “After. Patrick, you have to believe me that it’s only to help take the edge off.”

“What did you take?”

He opens his mouth but closes it when nothing comes out. Swallowing hard, he mutters under his breath, “It is a mixture of cocaine, Obertol, and Eukodal.”

Physically holding himself back from vomiting by covering he mouth with his fingers, he wills himself to keep asking questions, “And what do you remember after taking your drugs?”

James squints his eyes, “I… I was out of morphine,” his brow furrows, his memories now starting to return. “I only wanted to borrow a bit. Nothing too much, just enough…,”

“Enough to take the edge off,” Patrick finishes for him.

James’ eyes tick from side to side. “I was going to buy more and return it, I swear, but then…,” his brow furrows, “but then it was locked and Lee came in.” He shakes his head, “I’m not sure after that.”

“How convenient,” is the only snide reply Patrick allows himself to make.

“She saw that I was the one taking the drugs. I was embarrassed, but I don’t remember—”

“You violently assaulted her.”

“No!” He bolts upright in his bed, but Patrick is close enough to push him back down. “Please, whatever I did, I didn’t mean to—”

“I had come through the door just in time to stop you from ripping off her clothes and raping her, all claiming that you had some right to her body.”

“No.” James captures his head in his hands. “No, please, I promise you that I will clean up.”

“I know you will.” Patrick leans forward. “Right now, you have a choice to make with these being your only two options; A, I have secured a bed at Northfield Treatment Hospital. If you go there quietly, I will give a recommendation to your next employer on the provision that you never reach out to Shelagh ever again and that you remain in a drug treatment program. Or B, you stay here and I will fire you just after calling the police to come arrest you for stealing and assault.”

“I will choose Northfield, but I do want to see Lee before I leave.” Patrick is about to shut him down when he quickly adds, “After that, I will never bother you or your family again.”

For one hard, cold minute, they stare at each other, until Patrick concedes, “I will allow you to see her one more time, but I will be present.” He folds his newspaper over before standing from his chair. “If I see you so much as touch her, then I will not hesitate to call for the police.”

“Is she okay? Shelagh. Is she okay?”

Without a glance back, Patrick throws over his shoulder, “You will see her for yourself in a few hours time,” before slamming the door. He takes a staggering deep breath to help ease the raw anger flowing through his veins, his nails cutting into the flesh of his palm. Feeling a drop of liquid gliding in between his fingers, he looks down to see that one of his wounds on his knuckle has opened.

For one clear and beautiful second, Patrick thinks of going back in that room and beating the hell out of the man who has caused so much strife between him and his wife. He turns, his hand on the knob, but at the last second, he pulls away and marches back into his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I wish that the abuse and torture that Jamey's character had gone through was made up, the fact is that there was a work camp created under the Nazis. I tried to keep every bit of information true to the experiences those men and women went through. For more information on the Sachsenhausen Camp, I am going to put in two links.
> 
> https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/history-and-overview-of-sachsenhausen-oranienburg-concentration-camp - this website had a lot of information on the camp as well as information on a lot of Jewish history.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sachsenhausen_concentration_camp - I know some of you are cringing at this web page, however, most of the information found was also found on the Jewish Virtual Library. The one piece of information that I used from this page was about the drug experiments. When Patrick had told Shelagh that it was "rumored", that is also what I had found when I did my research.


	11. Chapter 11

—Knock,Knock—

Shelagh glances up from her vanity to the door’s reflection. “Come in.”

Sister Julienne quietly slips in with a small brown paper bag. “Compliments of Nurse Franklin,” she hands the bag over, “she said that she had talked about how to use it last night.” She also holds up the cup of tea, “I hope you don’t mind that I made some tea for you?”

“No, of course not,” Shelagh reaches in and pulls out the panstick. Coming from a conservative background, she was just getting comfortable with certain makeup, but only powder, mascara, and very subtle eye shadows. “Thank you.”

“How… how are you feeling, my dear?” Sister Julienne places the saucer on the edge before settling down in the chair next to the vanity.

“It was a rough night, but I’m feeling better,” Shelagh puts on a brave smile to help cover the pain of her heart breaking. Patrick had never returned home. She wasn’t expecting him to sleep in their bed, however, she was expecting him to at least come home. By the time she had finally managed to fall asleep, he had woken her to tell her that he was taking the kids to Granny Turner’s for a few days.

“All this will pass, my dear Shelagh.”

Her hands fall into her lap, “I’m not sure, Sister. I violated his trust and I’m not sure if we will ever have what we had before Jamey came to Poplar.”

“You two knew each other?”

“I would have married him if we had not received the letter of his death during the war.” She stares down at her jittery fingers in her lap. “I was distraught and so I threw myself into a profession that needed all the help it could get. That is when I had the calling into the religious life. The day I found out he had died was the same day my heart had died with him.”

“Fast forward a few years and you opened your heart again.”

“It was never meant to happen, but, to this day, I bend down on my knees every morning and thank the good lord for blessing me with Patrick’s love.” Shelagh looks over to her older sister, “He is my rock, my salvation, the true love of my life and I had forsaken it all for a taste of nostalgia.”

“He will forgive you, because he loves you just as much as you love him.”

“What if it’s the opposite now? What if he hates me, can’t stand the sight of me?”

“That will not happen because you know, as much as I know you do, that love never fails.” Sister Julienne reaches out and grasps Shelagh’s hand. “It didn’t fail when you were told of a terrible disease, it didn’t fail when you were told you could not bare children, and it didn’t fail you when Patrick fell deep into his own darkness. Stay strong, my dear, and love harder.”

Shelagh takes a few deep breaths, squeezing her sister’s hand before returning to the makeup to help cover the bruises on her face. She winces as she brushes the pad along her sensitive skin, the dark blue and purple now turning into a light brown. With the help of the powder, her skin almost yields back to hue it had been before Jamey’s backhand had marred her face.

“Make sure you drink your tea. I made sure that it is well sugared.”

Shelagh takes the cup, however, she can already feel her stomach turning from the odor of the milk. Not even able to take one sip, she slams down the cup before running into the bathroom. The cool tiles under the curve of her knees helps to steady herself as she vomits the very little amount of food from her stomach.

Just as her heaving slows down to a controllable rate, she feels a cool hand stroke her forehead, “Shall I pour you another cup of tea?”

She lays her cheek along the crook of her elbow, “We had taken certain precautions when we had discussed that we were happy with our three children.”

“God does work in mysterious ways.”

“That’s why I went into the storage room. I wanted to—”

“Shelagh?” Glancing up from her perch on the toilet bowl, she sees Patrick bending down next to her. “Are you okay?” The feel of his fingers running through her hair helps to settle the rolling waves in her belly.

“I wanted to make sure before I told you.” Tears rush to her eyes, her emotions from everything that has happened getting the best of her. “And then… and then I acted like such… like such a bloody fool.” 

“Oh, my darling,” he kisses her temple.

She pulls away from him, finding that the bathroom door had closed and Sister Julienne nowhere in sight. “You have no right to comfort me, not after the wretched way I acted.”

“I have all the right to comfort you,” he captures her wrist that was holding her hair back and kisses her palm. “You are my wife and the mother of my children and despite my anger at everything that has happened, I still love you with all of my heart.”

“I’m so sorry, Patrick.”

“I know, my darling.” He wraps his arms around her body and pulls her closer in towards the warmth of his chest. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

**Mother House, 1948**

“Something still holds you back, sweet child,” Sister Jesu Emmanuel reaches out with a gentle hand.

Sister Bernadette looks to the cross set between them, the old stone building bringing her respite. “I am ready to take my final vows.”

“There is a look about you, a perpetual sadness, that I fear will come when you least expect it.” Sister Jesu lightly squeezes her hand. “Your conversation with God is important when it comes to your prayers, but he will not answer you at your most desperate moment. That is why you have your sisters.”

Tears gather in her eyes, the loss of Jamey still a fresh wound, never healing. “The war had taken so much away.”

“Your brothers?”

Sister Bernadette looks to the cross again, the comfort of its shield helping her to voice what she has been holding back. “The man I loved.” Tears trail down her cheeks, Jamey’s sweet face in her vision, their times at the dances or in their secret hideaway or their last night together in the barn all playing through her mind.

“That is a heavy burden on one’s heart,” Sister Jesu’s voice pulls Sister Bernadette from her string of memories. “With the love you still have for him inside your heart, will you be able to let him go to serve God.”

“I have to let him go. He is dead, part of the earth now, and there is no chance for me to open my heart to another man.” Sister Bernadette looks back to Sister Jesu, “I am ready to take my vows, Sister.”

“You have one more night, before your final vows are said,” Sister Jesu pats Sister Bernadette’s hand. “Take this time, my dear sweet child, to think if you are fully committed to giving yourself to God, to serve in his name, to show obedience. And in return, I shall pray for you to find your answer.” Standing up, the older nun leaves the young novitiate to her prayers.

 

* * *

 

“How is she is doing?”

Patrick steps into the kitchen, running his fingers through his hair, “She’s fixing her makeup and her hair.”

On his way towards the stove, Sister Julienne hands him a cup of tea, “It’s well sugared. The one I made for Shelagh has no milk.”

“Thank you, Sister.” He takes a small sip of his tea, his eyes always glancing towards the stairs.

“She thinks that you hate her.”

“I love her with all of my body and soul. I think that’s why all this hurts so much.” He slams his cup down, the hot tea splashing onto his fingers. “And now with her pregnant, I’m afraid all of this stress is going to have more damaging repercussions.”

“It scared me when I saw her come in with her face bruised, her uniform torn to shreds.” Patrick glances over to the older nun looking out of the window, the small hitch in her voice tugging his heart in several different directions. “I thanked God that you were there to catch her, to make sure that no more harm had come her way.”

“I made a promise to you and Sister Evangelina a long time ago that I would do my best to protect her.” He stands shoulder to shoulder with Sister Julienne, focusing solely on the weeds that he had promised Shelagh a few days ago that he would pull. “To protect her and to love her equally and fiercely.”

Silence reigns between the two people as the tick of the clock on the mantle is the only passage of time heard. That is, until soft footfalls from the stairs shirks them from their solitude. “I’m ready.”

“Not before I give you a few things,” Sister Julienne gives Shelagh a small smile before producing a paper bag from the counter. “Knowing that you have had a lot of things on your mind, I packed you a lunch with a sandwich, crackers, a few pieces of fruit, and a couple of biscuits.”

Shelagh clasps hands with her former sister. “Thank you, Sister Julienne, for everything.”

“May God continue to bless you and keep you, my dear.”

 

* * *

 

“Hello Jamey,” James is instantly roused from his thoughts from the voice he is too ashamed to hear.

“Hey, Lee,” he reaches out to touch her arm but then retracts when he remembers the deal he had made with Patrick. “I’m going away today, to get some help.” He looks into her piercing blue eyes, the hint of bruising making him want to vomit his coffee from breakfast.

“Northfield is a wonderful hospital.” Shelagh settles down in the chair next to his bed. “I do hope you find the help you need and the strength to move on from this.”

“I was able to do it once, I know I can do it again.” He reaches for the small tin box from the bedside table. He had asked Nurse Crane to fetch it for him. She had been rather stubborn about it, but when he had said that it was his only chance to give it to its rightful owner, she had relented. “This is for you,” he holds it out for her to take. “I had been selfishly holding on to it and it’s time to give it to its rightful owner.”

Shelagh’s quick intake of air has Patrick by her side as she holds up the tags.

“When I first received treatment from my drug addiction, the doctor had suggested that I fill my time with a chore or a hobby.” He bites down on his bottom lip, “I had found numerous military tags, mostly American and some Canadian. Imagine my surprise when I found your brothers.” He swallows past the lump of guilt lodged in his throat. “This was my ticket to come see you, but not until I had become clean and respectable.”

James hears Patrick quietly asking Shelagh, “Do you have Fin’s tags?”

“Yes,” her hitched reply crumples against his heart. “They were never able to find Caelan’s body to retrieve his tags.”

“Words cannot express how sorry I am for treating you the way I did last night.” He takes a deep breath and looks up at Shelagh, “I should have respected your boundaries and left when I had the opportunity. This is my last time seeing you and I wanted to make sure that you had this before I left.”

“Jamey,” she reaches out this time and captures his hand, “despite everything, I will always count on you as a friend, no matter if we never see each other again.” She gives him three squeezes and let’s go. “Thank you for finding this.”

“Goodbye, Shelagh Mannion.”

“Goodbye, James Campbell.”

“An ambulance will be transferring you to Northfield, where they are expecting you in a few hours time. While there, I encourage you to seek out Doctor Jansen. You two will have more in common than you think.” Shelagh stands from the chair, her husband supporting her with one hand on the small of her back as he holds out his other, “Doctor Campbell.”

“Doctor Turner,” they both shake hands, “Thank you for your help with acquiring a bed at Northfield. Hopefully the next time I reach out to you, it is for a reference for a job far away from here.”

“I gave you my word just as long as you keep up your end of the bargain.” He helps Shelagh around the chair, “Good luck, Doctor Campbell, for a speedy recovery.”

 

* * *

 

\--Knock,Knock—

Shelagh glances up to see Patrick timidly standing at the foot of the door to their bedroom. “Patrick,” she sighs, visibly relieved to see him home.

“I just received a call that James has been admitted.” Toeing the invisible line between their bedroom and the hallway, he murmurs, “May I come in?”

“I want you in here,” she holds out her hand as he comes closer to their bed.

Grasping it, he sits down next to her, “How are you feeling?”

“A little nauseous, but it shall pass,” she gives him a weak smile, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m rather tired, but I wanted to make sure that you were alright before turning in for the night.”

Her smile falters, “Are you not sleeping in here?”

“I wasn’t sure…,” he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Not with everything that has happened.”

Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, “I understand.” Slipping her hand from his, she buries her face into her palms as the tears stream down her cheeks. “I was such a fool to think that you would want to still sleep in the same room as me.”

“Hey,” he captures her shoulders, lightly shaking her until she looks at him. “I want to sleep in here, but I thought with the attack that you wouldn’t want me.” Reaching up, his thumbs catches the tears that are still tumbling down.

“Patrick, we need each other, now, more than ever.” She caresses his cheeks, the edge of his jaw cradled within her palms. “One wrong decision on my part misaligned everything we had worked so hard to build; for that, I am so sorry.”

“I can’t pretend to not be hurt by all that was said and done,” his thumb runs along her collarbone, “but I have not given up on us or our marriage. We have a long road ahead of us, but I will fight tooth and nail until we can put this behind us.”

“You won’t have to fight tooth and nail because I will be by your side,” she leans in and gently kisses his cheek. “It will take some time, but we can heal together. But before then,” her hands grab his and pulls him towards her heart, “I want us to sleep in the same bed. I was not able to sleep a wink last night.”

Kissing her forehead, he strips off his suit and puts on his night clothes, before settling in bed next to her.

Turning off the light on her bedside table, she snuggles down into the covers, where his arms fold her against his chest, his hands splayed protectively across her belly. “I missed sleeping by you.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“In my office.” The tip of his nose nuzzles along the back of her neck, goosebumps erupting across her skin. “I had taken the time to finish up some paperwork and, the next thing I knew, I was waking up just as the sun was coming up.”

The idea that he would have rather stayed in his office than to come home hits her in the gut, the bitter taste of shame coating her tongue. Tears, once again, threatens to tumble onto her pillow, yet she keeps them at bay. _He is back here now and we are making strides to fix what I had broken between us._

 “When did you know you were pregnant?” Patrick’s question clips through the air.

“This past week, I have been feeling off kilter. Yesterday, after you had left for your first appointment, I became aware when the milk in my tea had me doubled over the toilet.” His arm tightens around her waist, her heart soaring at having him so close after nearly losing him. “That is why I went into the supply closet last night. I was going to send off a urine test, however, you had run out of pregnancy test beakers.”

A moment settles between them, his soft breathing melding against the anticipation of his next question. “When do you think concept—”

“I think is was sometime during Easter. We were rather amorous for each other, so I am unsure if of an exact date.” Turning over towards him, she sees his blurry outline against the light of the moon. “I know you are still hurt with what had happened, Patrick. I didn’t know that this unexpected pregnancy would clash against what had transpired in the supply closet.”

“I am confused right now,” his breathing a bit labored as to the swirling thoughts he is trying to put to words. “My feelings keep rolling into a tangled ball of yarn. I am angry with all that happened yesterday, delighted by your pregnancy, yet, worried about your well-being.”

“Really?”

“We had talked about how we were happy to have our three children, but this child,” he kisses her forehead, “he or she will be so loved.”

“I was worried about your reaction, especially when you saw me in the bathroom this morning.”

“I was furious this morning, but not at you, my darling, more simply at what could have happened if he had become more violent.”

“I am sorry, Patrick,” she stares at his chest, she is able to see the stripes more clearly as her eyes becomes accustomed to the dark. “I feel as if there are so many things holding us back.”

“We just have a lot of things to talk about,” he sighs, gently kissing the little knot of worry between her brows, “however, with all that has happened, we should rest now and pick up this conversation tomorrow night.”

Stifling a yawn, she quietly agrees, “Very well, Patrick, just as long as we do not leave it to fester.” She knows as much as him that their busy schedules can allow their molehill of a problem build to that of a mountain.

“We will talk tomorrow,” he pulls her closer into his embrace, his lips lightly grazing her forehead. “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, dearest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will be up soon!


	12. Epilogue

_Greetings Doctor Turner,_

_Enclosed are a few items that I wish for you and Shelagh to have. First, are all the photographs my sister could find of Shelagh and her family, including one where the family had taken a picture after Shelagh was born. I’m sure she will cherish it since it is the only one my sister could find of her mother._

_Next, is a letter from me to Shelagh. You may, of course, read it, nothing too scandalous, I promise you. Ever since entering treatment, one of the steps is asking for forgiveness._

_The last are all of the medical offices I have put my resume in. If you notice, they are all in America. Some of them have answered my inquiries back and hopefully by the time I am well, I will have a job._

_I have taken your advice to seek out Doctor Jansen and, to my surprise, he has been most helpful to my recovery. Words cannot express how thankful I am of your kindness and generosity._

_Sincerely,_

_James Campbell_

 

Already with the photograph of her family in her hands, she holds it down in front of her growing belly, “This was your grandmother and your uncles. They would have spoiled you and your brothers and sister rotten if they were still alive.”

“Do you want to read his letter to you?” Patrick holds out the envelope.

“You read it to me.” She continues to gaze down at the picture of her family. “Despite his complexities, I’m sure his letter will be simple.”

 

“Dearest Lee,

I was a boar and an absolute jackass. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me of the trespasses I made against your faith in me and your body.

There is still a lot of recovery ahead of me, but I have made steady grounds here at Northfield with Doctor Jensen, who was in the same camp I was at.

I’m moving to America and, although, I know what your answer will be, I hope to see you and your entourage of family in the future.

Enclosed, is a letter I had wrote to you at the end of my captivity with the Nazis. Originally, I didn’t want to give it to you, however Doctor Jansen encouraged me to send it. Something with giving up the last bit of my past, you know, all that head shrink stuff. It’s worked so far, so I thought about giving this a try.

Goodbye, my dearest Lee.”

 

Shelagh swipes away the loan tear that has trailed down her cheek, her focus remaining on the picture and the child growing inside her belly. “If you don’t mind, I will read the next one on my own.”

“What’s all this,” Timothy makes his way down the stairs.

“These are a few pictures of your mum’s family.” Patrick takes all the letters and stuffs them back into the large envelope.

“There is one picture of the five of us,” Shelagh turns it around to show Timothy.

Timothy gently takes it and studies it. “You look like your mother and I still say Teddy looks like your brother right here.”

“Caelan,” Shelagh supplies.

“I’m sorry that they will never meet,” Timothy hands back the precious photograph, “however, it’s nice to think that mummy is up in heaven with them, protecting our family.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Shelagh murmurs.

“That’s nice Tim,” Patrick claps his eldest son on the shoulder.

“I’m glad you think so, because everyone is going to The Who concert tonight,” he gives both his parents a cheeky smile. “I’ve already given Angela a bath and read her favorite nighttime story. My homework is finished and already in my school bag.”

“Isn’t that the band who destroys their instruments on stage?” Patrick’s question is met with a sly grin.

“How disturbing.” Shelagh shakes her head, “I don’t like this kind of rock and roll music.”

“Mum, have I told you lately how beautiful you look.”

“Not since the last time you wanted to go out with your friends,” she deadpans.

“You look absolutely smashing.”

“And?”

“Pregnancy looks great on you.”

“And?” She rolls her wrist, expecting to hear the answer she is trying to coax out of him.

“You have this glow about you, like there is moonlight always casting across your cheeks.”

“That’s a nice one,” Patrick adds with an impressed nod.

“And?”

Timothy heaves a big sigh, “I think **she** will be like you and take after your own mother.”

Shelagh contently sighs against the back of the chair, “You see? How hard was it to say that?”

“Rather hard when I am still rooting for ‘Team Male Turner’,” Timothy playfully rolls his eyes.

Shelagh flutters her eyelashes, “And how badly do you want to go to this concert?”

Timothy turns to his dad who has been stifling his laughter during the whole exchange, “Sorry, Dad. I switched sides. ‘Team Baby Pink’ is a go.”

Patrick playfully rolls his eyes, “Turncoat.”

“So, about that concert…” Timothy’s eyes tick back and forth between his parents.

“Make sure you are home by midnight,” his father smiles.

“And don’t forget that my olfactory nerves are heightened during pregnancy,” Shelagh adds. “I can smell those funny cigarettes from the other side of Poplar.”

“Duly noted, mum,” he kisses her forehead, “I wasn’t kidding when I said that you are very pretty.” His ears are the first to burn a bright red before he makes his way back upstairs.

Shelagh’s cheeks flush pink as tears begin to prickle her eyes.

Patrick leans over and kisses her, “Very beautiful, indeed.” He lifts his eyebrows and smirks, “I will place the letters in our room. If you leave this out, I will buy a frame for it tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

_My dearest Lee,_

_The Nazis are moving us out. The end of the war is coming close and they are now becoming desperate. I don’t know if I will ever see you again, but I can no longer live another moment longer without telling you how much I am in love with you. You have brought me to life when I thought I would live the remainder of it in darkness. I hope that if I die this letter will find its way to you. Live your life to the fullest. Get married. Have a lot of children. Show them what true love feels like. I love you, Lee, to Fin and Caelan and back._

_Yours forever, Jamey_

 

Shelagh silently reads the letter Jamey had sent her a few more times before handing it off to Patrick. Slipping out of bed, she changes into her nightdress.

“He knew death was certain," he eventually calls out to her, "and, in the end, he gave you your right to be free and to live your life. That was the honorable thing to do.” She can feel the weight of his stare as she places her glasses on the bedside table.

She snuggles into bed next to him, a blanket of warmth settling along her shoulders as he reaches out to stroke her belly. “How do you know?”

“Marianne told me the same thing just before the very end; to live my life, to seek love and happiness, and to make sure that Timothy has the same.” He looks to her with a gentle smile, “I know in the past few months we have had our share of arguments, but I can tell you, without a doubt that I have found love and happiness with you.”

Those arguments play through her mind; the shouts that had waken up Angela, the cruel words whispered under their breaths, and the silence that had always followed after. The topic of their fights always ranging, never one thing to focus on, but several. 

It would usually take less than a day for one, or both, to come up with an apology pressed upon their lips and the vicious cycle would continue. However, it wasn’t until a particularly nasty row, did the real effects of their fights began to show with the sight of blood. After a few days in the hospital and strict orders for bedrest, he had taken her home and, with the kids at Granny Parker’s, they were able to talk through the majority of their marital problems.

While they both now know that they are far from the ‘happily-ever-after’ they wish to have, they had also realized that they had crossed over the largest hurdle towards understanding their marriage after such painful events.

"I am very much happy with you, Patrick," she snuggles deeper against his chest, a sigh of contentment escaping through her lips, “and I do love you.”

“As I love you, my darling wife,” he lifts himself up, their lips touch, the same spark she had felt on that misty road, ignites in her chest, telling her that they will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who took a chance with me on this story! I know, for some, that it was a gamble (to see the characters we love so much having to endure all these things that we ourselves as a reader would rather not want to read), but it was a gamble I was willing to make as a writer. It was different than any other fics that I had written for in this fandom (something that I had barely touched on in the Trek fandom). 
> 
> Thank you for taking that chance. I truly hope that you enjoyed the story!! 
> 
> Other than "Old Bean", I am at a stand still with writing (I have to wait until March to see the new episodes). I am dabbling with some ideas; researching and writing down a few chapters to see where I stand. These stories are vastly different than anything I have written so it might be a little longer until I post anything new. 
> 
> You guys absolutely rock!! 🤘


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